The World with Hard Fingertips
by Katabatics
Summary: Loss came a second time to Asami Sato's life, the ruins leaving her with little defense against its injuries. The Equalists are no solution, but Amon can at least offer Asami her family and with it, something like shelter.
1. Chapter 1

The note was wedged in the door to Asami's room, just below eye level. It said two things in neat, uniform script: Hiroshi Sato was ill, stricken with a sickness of the heart, and he was being treated at an address on the edge of the Dragon Flats Borough.

It held two other details besides: Asami's name on the outside, and Amon's signature at the end.

Asami read it once and looked up and down the hall. The late morning sun fell through long windows near the ceiling and illuminated only the dust motes drifting in the rays.

She cinched her robe tight before sliding the door open and leaning inside, just enough to eye the entire space. It held only stacks of trunks, squatting flat and bulky around the spare furnishings.

She stepped inside, closing the door before staring at the note again: a silent white square that _definitely _hadn't been there when she'd left for the baths. That led to an uneasy calculation—how much time had she taken, some twenty, twenty-five minutes? The vague vision of _someone _waiting, watching, prompted a shudder. Asami dropped the note on a trunk near the bed and gathered the clothes she'd laid out the night before. She dressed quickly, keeping the door in her sight throughout, only half-turning away to grab the next item. When she'd done up the last button and shoved on her boots, she paused to look around once more.

Faint sounds filtered through the thin walls: soft footsteps, doors opening and closing, the rise and fall of a quiet conversation. A gull called from the bay, answered by another. Nothing suggesting trouble or any disturbance at all, just the endless tranquility of an island that was supposed to be reachable only by ship or sky bison. An island that was secure, Councilman Tenzin had assured them, from the growing unrest in the city.

Asami stared at a spot on the floor where a patch of sunlight broke against a trunk, and reached without looking for the electrified gauntlet that sat on her bedside table. She perched on edge of the bed and drew the glove close against one thigh before starting to comb her damp hair.

_Sickness of the heart. _The phrase pattered through her mind. Her father would sometimes work, or rather, _over_work himself to exhaustion when a particular enthusiasm got hold of him, and he came down with a stuff-nosed, watery-eyed cold every summer. But _sickness of the heart _was new.

Maybe it had to do with the conditions he was living in with his fellow Equalists. Assuming the story was true, of course, and not the lead-in for some trap.

Asami stopped at that thought, closing her eyes and kneading her temples.

Moments like these, when the careful rotation of thinking-but-not-thinking tripped up and allowed _Dad_ to connect with _Equalist,_ gave her a vertiginous feeling. The feeling she'd had while watching the workshop floor sink into emptiness, reality unspooling with the rumble of gears and a gust of warm air from below. Her father joining, serving, supporting, _bankrolling_ terrorists, _lying_ to her for years.

A sourness slid up the back of her throat. The fact that she couldn't even trust _this_, this one scrap of information about him, that she had to think first that _it might be a trap_.

Asami concentrated on breathing through her nose until it subsided. She returned to her hair and to safe, pragmatic considerations. What _should_ she do about the note?

First, Councilman Tenzin should know about it, given the breach in the Air Temple's security. But he left early for council meetings and would be gone until the afternoon. The other monks, the Air Acolytes—well, their whole purpose here was to be unconcerned with worldly things, wasn't it? She could tell Korra's bodyguards—the Lotuses?—but Korra actually didn't seem to like them, and who knew how they might react? There was no point in rushing out to raise the alarm.

Asami set the comb aside and pulled a small leather case toward her, rummaging through the pots and wood-handled brushes within. She leaned into a small mirror propped against another suitcase and began lining her eyes.

Second, there was the fact that _Amon _was sending her notes about her father, a newly-minted Wanted Terrorist. _Breathe, breathe. _That meant the police and Chief Beifong—no, the new one, Saikhan—would have to be informed too.

Asami sat back to look through the case again, hovering indecisively over pots of eyeshadow and ticking off the events that would follow. Telling the police would probably mean a raid on the location, like the Task Force strikes that were all over the papers. Like the one on Future Industries. And_ that _had happened mere hours after Korra accused her father. Republic City's police force moved quickly when Equalists were involved.

She settled on a dark burgundy and drew a fine-tipped brush through the stiff powder. Watching the metalbenders at work on her father's factory had been an education. She'd always thought their cords were for restraint, but it turned out they could be used to slice through locks and shatter crate lids.

The Equalists had captured six or seven of Republic City's officers with help from Hiroshi Sato that night. The remaining police force would be angry, with good reason, and maybe even vengeful. _Sickness of the heart. _And once she handed the message over, the matter would be taken out of her hands. No reason for her to even leave Air Temple Island, let alone follow up on what it said.

_Let the authorities take over. Again._ She rolled her eyes at that, mouth pulling to one side. Maybe it would be better, _smarter,_ to talk to her friends about it first and see if they had any ideas. They could take a look at this place on their own maybe, before alerting the Councilman and the police. They could do it today even, Mako would want—well, Mako…

Her hand, poised at her eyelid, dropped. _Well, Mako..._and the thought tapered out there with nothing to add to the end of it. An absence of conclusion where he was concerned. Well, Mako might want to help, and Mako might not want to help. Mako might care, and he might have other things on his mind.

The brush rolled back and forth between her fingertips.

She'd never known this side of things. It was humiliating to find herself reaching, wanting, and unable to have. To know that _something_ had changed, somewhere, and to be completely unable to find what it was, and fix it. Asami watched her unfinished reflection, thin lines amidst half-painted colors. She frowned. There _was _something about her stay here, a collection of otherwise forgettable instants—a sidelong glance from a passing Acolyte, an offhand comment about the luggage she'd brought, the way Tenzin frowned when Jinora asked about her lipstick. A sense, nascent and unfamiliar, that she might be doing something wrong.

Maybe Mako felt it too. Maybe living in the...the _austerity_ of Air Temple Island was changing the way he saw her. He'd always been such a low-maintenance person himself. Maybe he'd like her better if she were more like—well if she were simpler, if she went _without_ all this preparation. Had he ever really commented on it before? Maybe all this time, he'd secretly thought she was too..prissy, too vain.

But something in her resisted that. Her attention to makeup, to clothes, it was more than _vanity,_ it was keeping up routines. Simple things like the patient application of paint, powder and cream every morning were important. She'd learned it all once before when she'd gone from a whole family to just father-and-daughter in the space of one night. Routines had kept them both moving forward in the aftermath.

And this loss felt wider, like a cliff at the periphery of her mind just past _Dad/Equalist, s_he could feel it inching inward, more and more of her life crumbling away. _Powder, paint, cream_ was at least solid, a practice rooted in years of habit.

But maybe if she could let go of all this primping for now, just put aside this one thing, maybe Mako would like her better.

Maybe he'd like her better. Asami's eyes narrowed in the mirror. _Maybe I don't care_. She finished her eyeshadow in two broad swipes, and moved on to the rest.

* * *

She drank her tea alone in the dining hall, as had become usual. Her hosts, the Air Nomads and the Acolytes, had already moved on to other chores by the time she emerged from her room, and her friends seemed to roll out of bed straight into their day. She'd never realized how long it took her to get ready in the morning until she'd come to stay here.

Mako, Bolin and Korra were in the courtyard, lounging on the steps and talking about pro-bending when Asami found them. The news of her discovery fell like a shadow over the sun.

A loose circle formed as Mako scanned the note and gave it to Bolin, who grimaced at it before handing it over to Korra.

Asami waited, then ventured into their silence. "I know we should tell Councilman Tenzin about it, but I thought we might take a look this afternoon while he's still away. Just to see if it's true."

Mako crossed his arms. "C'mon, Asami, it has to be a trap."

The flat rejection took her aback. And of course he sounded so _certain _about it, it was so _irritating_... "That's just one possibility," she shot back. "What if it's true about my father? What if—and you just want me to ignore it?" She glared, daring him to challenge her again.

Mako bristled and started gesturing, hands flat and rigid as if he were trying to define the shape of the logic only he could see "But he's an Equalist, he's a terrorist—"

"He's _what_?"

"Okay, hey" Bolin's voice eased between them. He looked at Mako "It wouldn't hurt to just check it out, bro."

Korra was still staring at the note. Mako gave an aggrieved huff and sliced his hand through the air. "Fine! But only one or two should go, not all of us."

Asami didn't fail to hear the order obscured in that concession, but Mako was already looking away, leaning over Korra's shoulder to read the note again. The dull buttons down his gray coat lined up with her bare arm. How quickly would _one or two _reshape itself into _no_ _Asami, it's too dangerous, just Korra and I should go_? How thoroughly would her argument to the contrary get smothered by that insistent, ashy voice?

When Asami didn't answer him Mako added, "It's too much of a risk to try anything else."

Korra jumped when he spoke, and the thin paper tore in her grip. She winced and offered Asami an apologetic look. "Sorry Asami, I didn't mean to. It's just—I mean…" She looked down, then away, her shoulders dropping in some internal defeat. The sentence went unfinished.

Asami recalled the ambush beneath Avatar Aang's statue—what little Korra would talk about—and the sight of the Wolfbats on the distant platform, falling one after another to Amon, and her smoldering resentment curled into itself. Air Temple Island was the last safe sanctuary for the Avatar, and s_he_ was the cause of it being compromised by the Equalists. It was _her_ father who had given them the weapons and explosives that shattered the arena and sabotaged the police.

She swallowed the last of her self-pity and politely rescued the note from Korra's hands. All eyes were on her now, waiting for an opinion Mako's compromise. Asami tucked the paper in a pocket and decided that it had been a mistake to go to her friends after all. "I'll ask Councilman Tenzin and the police," she said. "That should take care of it."

The declaration earned mumbles of agreement all around, and the group broke apart. Mako and Korra turned away together, his hand going between her shoulders in a subdued touch. His quiet _are you okay?_ drifted back as they moved to the edge of the courtyard. Asami watched them for a moment, then turned with a scuff of her boot against the dusty stone to walk the other way.

Her direction led away from the temple. There were hours yet before the councilman would be back and the prospect of waiting there while surrounded by the untroubled peace of the Air Acolytes was intolerable.

She tested the idea of catching a ferry to the city instead, saw herself standing alone on the windy deck with no purpose or end in mind, and let it go.

Her aimless steps drifted diagonally until she'd left the walkway altogether, stepping onto the dry, uneven moss. A stand of trees stood a short distance away. Nature hikes were low on her list of preferred pastimes, but any occupation would do right now.

She wandered among the slender trunks crowded by dense bushes and tried half-heartedly to guess what types they might be while picking her way around piles of leaves. An breeze sent more sifting down from the thinning canopy overhead.

After a few minutes, a sharpening of the air suggested she was getting close to the shore. Further on, the strident ocean began to drown out chirps and rustles. She emerged from the trees at the edge of a low bluff overlooking Yue Bay.

A set of steps, packed dirt propped up by worn boards, led down the steep face. At their bottom was a beach, little more than a thin rocky strip wedged against the cliff, water lapping up its dark stones. With still nothing better to do, Asami walked its length.

At the far end was a giant piece of driftwood, some uprooted tree stripped of branches and bleached white in its journey here. Asami stopped near the tangle of remaining roots and leaned against the trunk, folding her arms as she looked out at the bay. The languid jostling waves, alternating blue and incandescent white in the sun, lifted a stray memory: her swimming pool back home, or at least the last time she'd seen it. It had been during Korra's visit, Mako and Bolin lively and playful in the pale water, still overwhelmed by her house, her life. It had been so easy to offer them a place to stay after the arena and so sweetly pleasing to see Mako unwind with relief at it.

And now—now she had nothing to offer him, nothing in all her packed trunks that could ease anyone. Now she was another house guest, aimless, uncertain and dependent. But who was she to complain, when that was what Mako and Bolin had lived with their whole lives?

_Because t__hey're still a team,_ came the sulky answer._ They're still the Fire Ferrets. _The "Future Industries" part peeled away from the team name like a sticker. They had each other, and—and they had Korra. _Asami Sato, broke non-bender_ couldn't be part of it. Now she was a link to the Equalists, her name invoking the company that was their front; and she couldn't counteract the tide of newspapers and radio reports and third-hand gossip from old acquaintances who wouldn't return her calls, the distant relatives who'd refused her and left her with nowhere else to go.

Asami squinted at the dull ground, digging her nails into her elbows. _It's no use crying, tears don't change anything. _She finally freed one hand to cover her eyes, wishing that alone could divide_ Asami _from the rest of world, from radicals and pro-benders and boys. She wished she could go for a drive, or go racing, do _something_.

But the Future Industries test track was probably being dismantled by the city right now in their search for information. She wiped her eyes and let her hands fall back to her side.

A crunch of footsteps broke over the sound of the water, followed by a shout. "Hey Asami!"

Bolin was hurrying toward her, waving. Asami levered herself off the driftwood as he approached, wondering if it was news or pity that had sent him after her.

He stopped in front of her and shot a glance up the cliff. He drew into himself a little, a near-imperceptible hike of his wide shoulders.

"Listen, if you want to go look for your Dad, uh, alone, I can go with you." He fidgeted with the pale green piping of his collar, scratched at his neck. "I mean, uhhh...if you want to be not totally alone when you look for him." He held up both hands, eyes wide and garden-bright. "I won't say anything to Mako, or even Korra."

_So it's pity, then. _Asami thought of his earnest, hopeless admiration for Korra and felt a fresh surge of chagrin. She must have been so obvious back at the courtyard if _Bolin_ had seen it, and now he was going to try to cheer her up. Her reply came out rushed and incoherent. "Bolin I—if this is about—I mean me and Ma—and—"

"Nononono," Bolin cut her off with equal haste. "I just…" His gaze slid off to the horizon and he rubbed the back of his head. The pensive pose reminded Asami of his older brother for a moment, Mako's inarticulate, closed-off distance. "I just think it's good to…get to see—uh, in case anything happens. You know. And Mr. Sato's crazy and all—_sorry_—but he's your Dad, so you should be able to see him."

He capped the solemn half-thought with a sidelong grin and a shrug, resuming his expansive confidence. "Plus, it'd be great to get off this boring island, right?" He stuck his hands in his pockets and pivoted, kicking one foot idly. A rock several feet away jumped and bounced into the water.

His optimism was infectious, and Asami couldn't help her answering smile. She felt lifted by Bolin's brightness, it felt like it belonged to the beautiful day and surroundings much better than her own sullen mood. _Sickness of the heart _and _seeing Dad again_ settled under the promise of action, and support.

She allowed a quiet anticipation to unfurl. "Well, alright…"


	2. Chapter 2

On the ferry to the mainland it was decided that a low-key approach would be best. Asami led Bolin to a large shed after they disembarked, a city storage locker for the things abandoned and lost that littered the docks. With Tenzin's help she'd been allowed to store a few vehicles here. She wheeled her moped around coils of rope and netted glass buoys and out into the fresh air. Bolin lowered the corrugated tin door behind her.

The sound of the engine starting was bracing. The familiar sensations—her knees against the frame, her boots propped on the footrests, the rubber grips beneath her hands—lifted her mood even further. Bolin's arms around her waist grew tight, then tighter, as Asami pushed the machine to its limits through the streets of Republic City.

The address given in the note was a part of town unfamiliar to her, bordering the industrial district. Asami parked the moped in an alley several streets away and parted ways with Bolin. They approached the designated street from opposite directions, weaving between streams of tired-looking men and women toward the building where her father was supposed to be.

It turned out to be a low gray structure that looked as if it should have been demolished a decade ago. Missing chunks of masonry along the corners gave it a slightly moth-eaten look, and the few windows that weren't broken were blank behind grey layers of dust. There were two doors, both blocked with sheets of wood.

After a quarter of an hour, Asami met again with Bolin on the sidewalk opposite the derelict building. He leaned against a lamppost and shrugged at her.

"Just a little bit longer, okay?" A faint plaintiveness in her words revealed more than she liked, but then Bolin already knew how she felt. "I'll buy you something to eat after this."

That sounded wrong as soon as Asami said it—she remembered Mako's bewilderment as he uncovered each successive facet of her wealthy life—but Bolin only smiled wide and patted his stomach. "You've got a deal."

Asami went back to scanning the building, imagining the dusty disarray of the interior, trying to picture how the Equalists might use it. An elbow in her side interrupted her. Bolin jerked his thumb at a second-story window set in the wall perpendicular to the street. In the oblique view, Asami saw a twitch of motion, the dim, momentary silhouette of someone looking out.

It wasn't much, but it was good as they were going to get, unless they wanted to break in during broad daylight. She turned to Bolin and nodded.

The next phase of the plan was hashed out over dumplings, Bolin assuring her around a mouthful of food that he was fine with going back at night. They made it back to the docks just in time for the late afternoon ferry. The entire trip had taken less than two hours.

* * *

Asami asked some open-ended questions of the ferry's captain and found that the vessel's schedule could be extended to after hours, for passengers willing to reimburse him for the extra gasoline. The cost of which, incidentally, tripled after sunset. She paid in advance.

The first trickle of nervousness came in the evening, as she waited for Councilman Tenzin to ask about the note. He made no mention of it—it seemed no one had brought it to his attention yet—and between the children's antics and gloomy talk of council proceedings, distractions were plentiful enough to avoid the topic altogether. Asami was able to retire to her room early without causing comment.

A sense of crisp preparation took over when she was safely alone again. Asami swapped her fitted jacket for a black coat and tucked her hair into the collar. She lingered over a pair of goggles—she longed to take a Satomobile, or even her moped, back to the location, but they would make too much noise at this time of night—and picked up the heavy Equalist gauntlet instead.

She slid the weapon over her hand and pressed the pads of her fingers to the thin metal plates inside. It lit in crackling blue.

It had been over two weeks since she'd used it on her father. Since she'd walked down the cement slope alone and stepped into an immense subterranean space that must have taken months, if not years, for him to carve out. Her father had been ringed by Equalists, hair sweaty and collar askew. He'd looked guilty for a moment, just a moment, before pleading with her, asking her to join him. He'd been so, so certain that she would.

Asami curled her fingers and watched the electricity race along her palm. She remembered the twist of anger she'd felt at that expectation, the sickening confirmation of deception, the appalled defensiveness for her friends' sake, for Mako's sake, _all_ of it driving her to turn the glove on him. He was by no means a young man, and how many volts had she put through his chest?

She let up on the plates and slid the gauntlet off. She'd gotten by for years without using it, she could risk leaving it behind this time. She slid the note from her discarded clothes and pocketed it, then blew out the lamp and left.

Bolin met her by the ferry, his earthbender's green sash nowhere in sight and a shapeless cap pulled low over his black hair. As they stepped onto the bobbing deck the weight of the mission settled in, and their trivial conversation—_any trouble getting out? Hope it doesn't start raining on the way back—_was strained between long pauses.

A series of rattling trolley rides, each one emptier than the last, carried them back to the street. The building still looked utterly deserted, night spilling in and out of the gaping windows, but the wan glow of the streetlights outlined fresh tire tracks in the muddy street.

Bolin insisted on going first. He ran up to the alley adjoining the building with his face screwed up and his shoulders hunched in imitation of the taut, focused bearing of a metalbender. Asami followed after a moment, suspecting he was playacting somewhat to counteract the jittery fear they both were feeling. And of course Bolin had so much more to lose if they were somehow caught.

By the time she got through the shadows in the alley, Bolin was already forcing bricks out of the building's facade with muted thumps. One last punch from the side of his fist made the exposed bricks line up neatly in a light shower of dust.

He bowed her to the impromptu ladder. "Miiilady."

Asami was oddly touched by the silly gesture. She put her hand on his forearm and squeezed, looking into his eyes. "Thanks Bolin. I won't be long."

She turned to the wall and took hold of the first set of steps, breathed in determination, and with an upward _push_ started the climb, refusing to think about the height or what she was going to do at the top. But the qualms grew stronger as she closed the distance to the window. She almost hoped that it was a trap, but _no how could we get away in time if it is_, but if it wasn't_ then he's sick and he's being kept in this horrible dump?_

She reached the last set of bricks, leaving her just below waist level with the window. She steadied herself with a hand on the frame and peered inside.

It was a small room, lit by an old-fashioned lantern hanging from the ceiling. Oiled furniture nestled on rich-looking rugs and a few paintings were spaced along the walls. It looked nothing like the building's outside. It looked like it could have come straight from her home.

Save for the high metallic hospital bed in the center of the opposite wall. The occupant appeared to be sleeping and with a start, Asami recognized her father. For a moment, the plain realization that _it was true_ froze her in place.

Their plan had been vague beyond this point, but the next logical step would be to climb down and return to Air Temple Island with a report. Asami's ankles began to tremble as she held there, balanced tiptoe on the bricks. She twisted enough to look over and down at Bolin, who'd made himself comfortable against the opposite wall. He saw her and lifted his hands, palms up. _Well?_

Asami nodded to him, and knew that she would be going inside.

She turned back to the window and slid it open, then swung a knee onto the ledge. A hissed "Asami," glanced off her back as she dropped onto the soft carpet.

Sneaking was not an art she'd often needed to practice, but hundreds of hours in dance lessons and practicing self-defense forms had at least given her a feeling for moving with some care. She closed the window behind her and crossed to the bed with light steps.

Hiroshi was in green silk pajamas—his favorite pair, a gift from Asami's mother—his arms limp and straight atop the coverlet that was draped over most of his body. His spectacles lay folded on a bedside table, next to a tray holding a pitcher and green and brown glass bottles. His face was pallid beneath his neat mustache, and still.

She used find him asleep at his desk all the time. A fearful need to see him move _now_, open his eyes, made her reach for the back of his hand.

"Dad?" she whispered.

"Let him sleep. He needs the rest."

Asami spun around falling into a defensive half-crouch and glaring around the room. The low voice had come from a corner that had been empty, she _knew_ it had been, but now the dim light outlined someone seated there, their face white and gold beneath a deep hood. Her breath caught. _Amon._

Her heartbeat thrummed through her chest as he stood slowly. She'd never seen Amon up close, only glimpsed him in the arena, heard the ominous speeches crackling in over radio music. Korra and Bolin had actually faced him, and their descriptions—_scary, like some kind of spirit, he said he would destroy me_—only added to the awareness that he was an intensely dangerous person. A spirit would be an improvement; the tall, powerful figure, in heavy clothes the color of iron and rust, was all too real. Asami felt the absence of electrified gauntlet keenly, and wished she had all its stopping power to place between Amon and herself.

Amon, however, remained standing where he was. He was no less intimidating for his immobility. Asami found herself watching the red circle at the top of the mask. "Miss Sato. I sent the message in good faith. You are not in danger."

The low-pitched intonation was the same as the broadcasts, there was no doubt it _was_ him, but his tone—it was mild, and Asami had the unbalancing feeling that Amon was _chiding_ her for her reaction. She kept her hands up, sharpened her glare. "Why?"

The hood dipped slightly. "Hiroshi speaks often of you. His wish is for you to join him in our cause."

Provoked, she tightened her fists. "I'm not here to do that."

"I know." Amon spoke with measured precision, as if his words were matched to the rigid mask they issued from. "But I believe the stress of separation from his family has contributed to this illness."

He finally moved, scattering the shadows as he paced to the window and looked out. Asami watched him, wound tight with wary uncertainty. She thought of Bolin, oblivious in the alley below. She hoped he'd moved somewhere safer.

"Hiroshi is a friend as well as an ally, and I do not want him to suffer more than he already has for his devotion to our cause." Amon turned away from the window, and Asami caught a glint of eyes behind the mask, looking directly at her. "And I assumed you would be concerned about his well-being."

Asami glanced down involuntarily at her father. His breaths were shallow, as if unable to make the effort needed to lift his stout chest. That rotundity had always suited his hearty personality in her memories, but now the weight was unfamiliar, a sickish mottled corpulence. It dawned on her that she had never seen her father so weakened before; not when he'd staggered back from the glove's shock, not when he'd caught the Omashu Flu after working too many nights in a row, not even when he'd buckled and collapsed in the sitting room, weeping openly as the healers began wrapping her mother up.

Asami had climbed onto the sofa beside him then, wrapping her arms around his neck and begging him not to cry.

Tears gathered, sliding along the edges of her eyes, and suddenly guarding against Amon didn't matter so much. She let her arms down, and dropped her stance. "Of course—" A thick unhappiness clogged her throat, and she had to start over. "Of course I'm concerned. But why are you here?"

"I can't leave him entirely unprotected, and the usual guards would not respond well to your visit." Amon spoke matter-of-factly as he walked back to the corner. He lifted the chair, one hand clamping over the slats.

He moved with a smooth, self-contained balance that reminded Asami of her best teachers, masters in their disciplines. Reason whispered that she had no chance if he really wanted to attack here and now, that all her posturing was useless. He had to know it, too. She eased her weight back to one foot anyway as he approached.

But Amon merely set the chair down next to her and strolled to the adjacent wall to examine an ink triptych of Kyoshi Island. He made a strange figure there, the mundane pose failing to cover the menace in every line of him. Asami stared at his back for a moment before sitting gingerly.

She turned her attention back to her father, laying a hand on his arm and stroking the graying hair at his temple, listening to his soft, labored breaths. Losing her last parent, her only _family_ was a concept she'd left to the indistinct future but it reared up now as an immediate possibility, undeniable and wrenching. She strung together a silent, helpless apology, _I'm sorry for leaving, leaving you alone, leaving you to come to this, I'm sorry, please don't—_

An uncontrolled tremor started in her chest and crept outward. Asami bent double until her forehead touched the edge of the bed, and clutched the blanket. A desperate, lonely sense of loss, _again,_ rose and she shuddered, trying to stifle a sob because _he needed his sleep_.

She didn't notice the weight that fell on one shoulder right away, but slowly became aware of a palm settling there, fingers curling over the thin fabric of her coat. Asami looked up. Tears in her lashes broke her view into a blurred kaleidoscope, but through them she could make out Amon standing at her side, a stiff pillar of leather and canvas burnished warm brown in the light.

"I am sorry, Miss Sato. He is receiving the best care the city has to offer." There was genuine sympathy in the murmur, belying the fixed hollow smirk of his disguise. Asami was caught for a moment trying to reconcile the two. She realized she was staring and looked back to her father's pallid face.

"That's good, that's…" The thought broke into an unsteady sniffle. Asami took a deep, shaky breath_, _pulled herself into a semblance of dignified formality. "Thank you for your help. I'm sure you're doing everything you can for him."

His hand lay on her shoulder a moment more, and then his presence behind her receded with a faint rustle. She heard a door open. "Our guards will be away from this part of the building for another half an hour. I will keep you informed of his progress."

The door closed and Asami was alone with her father.


	3. Chapter 3

She was conscious of Bolin waiting outside, alone, for every minute she lingered. Still Asami hovered as her father slept on with labored breaths. He showed no change for the better or the worse, his health apparently indifferent to her presence. She looked for something to leave a message with, but despite the rich furnishings no pen, or ink or paper was in evidence.

Finally, she gave in and touched a kiss to his forehead. Maybe someone—she couldn't quite allow herself to think the name as she climbed out the window_—_would tell him she'd been there anyway.

When she'd jumped down from the wall, skipping the last few steps, she only had to say, "It was true." Bolin's mouth opened and his eyebrows rose, then quirked downward. "Oh whoa, that's…"

"We should get back." Asami brushed past him, conscious of the stiff and ruddy aftermath of crying all over her face. She pressed the back of her hand to her cheek, trying to cool it. "We don't want to miss our ride back."

"Yeah, right," Bolin caught up with her, and they walked along the sidewalk until a streetcar rattled near. They received a cursory glance from the driver as they jumped on, the only passengers in the car. Asami sat near the front and stared resolutely at her hands on her knees. Bolin joined her, hands in his pockets and his shoulders high.

She listened to the mechanical clacking of the wheels as they trundled through the streets, letting sound replace thought. She recalled a brief period, when she'd been 14 or 15, where Future Industries had tried to develop a streetcar that could run without electric cables. The plans never came to anything, though she couldn't remember why.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Bolin stifling a yawn against his fist. A part of Asami knew she was being unfair, she shouldn't be sulking in silence after everything he'd done to help. But she felt too worn to care, like she'd been ground into featureless sand for the night.

The clanking slowed as the streetcar neared the harbor station. Bolin cleared his throat. "So…when do we tell everyone else? Like, uh, Korra...and Tenzin..." He let it trail off there.

_Right. _Asami didn't want to talk about it, but what she wanted didn't matter to the world at large. The whole reason they had gone out here, the plan she'd proposed just this morning, it had all been a detour from the correct course of action of which Bolin was now reminding her.

She could see the Air Temple ferry awaiting them, a single light in its cabin window burning a bilious yellow.

"Tomorrow," she answered. The word tasted stale.

* * *

Returning to her room unseen was as easy as leaving had been. Asami sat on the bed before letting herself fall back, legs hanging over the side and one arm slung over her stomach. She let day unwind at last.

In the dark, the moments came fragmented and out of order: the bricks' grit under her fingers, the short, lumbering breaths of her father, the outline of his large form beneath the blanket. The desolate beach, the sunlit courtyard. _Amon_, the sudden claustrophobia of being in a dim room with him.

She shivered in residual discomfort—Amon had sent the note, he'd put his _hand_ on her shoulder...

But he could have taken her as a prisoner at any time, her and Bolin, and he hadn't. _Hiroshi is a __friend as well as an ally_. To all appearances, he'd really summoned her for her father's sake.

She'd never known her father to have friends. Business partners, subordinates, occasional protégés—_Mako was supposed to be one_, and what a bitter thought that was—but nothing quite like friends, not since her mother. Maybe there was something that he'd found with the Equalists, some camaraderie, like what she had with the Fire Ferrets. Maybe that was why he'd go so far as to build weapons and fight for them.

And now he was sick and it was the Equalists who were caring for him while his daughter was preparing to hand him over to the police. Asami rolled onto her side, the thought turning over and over until sleep slipped in to take its place.

She woke curled atop the plain linen covers, daylight blooming bright behind her eyelids. There was a steady tapping from the door. "Miss Sato…?"

Asami recognized the light contralto; one of the female Acolytes, a novice who delivered messages and ran errands. _Tap tap tap_. "Miss Sato?"

She reeled to a seat at the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes. A glance down showed she was still wearing last night's no-nonsense outfit. With fuzzy thoughts, she tried to decide if she should pretend she was already up and dressed. But her clothes were wrinkled, with streaks of brick dust running down the dark jacket and coating the knees of her trousers.

_Sleeping In As Usual_ seemed like a more believable excuse. "Just a moment!" Asami called out, forcing a cheery tone through the morning hoarseness. She fumbled with the metal buttons of the jacket before giving up and tugging it over her head, flapping her arms to free herself from it. It dropped to the floor with a crackle of static. She leaned over to start on the boots, and stopped.

A square of paper, folded once, lay on the pale wooden floorboards.

She grabbed last night's jacket and dragged it up to check the pocket—no, the first note was still there, somewhat worn for having been crushed beneath her hip all night.

She lifted the new one, and opened it. _700_, down the paper in the same precise handwriting as before. _Was it really Amon's_?

She grasped the meaning after moment. _Come at this time_. It had to be tonight.

The tapping started again as she stared at the numbers, feeling the bizarre juxtaposition of _there, __last night_ and _here, __now._ "Miss Sato? I just have a message…"

_So do I, _Asami thought.

But the Air Temple and the nervous Acolyte at the door won out over her blurring memory of last night. "Alright!" Asami leapt for the door, flattening the note between her palm and the frame at the last minute and leaning against it. She slid the panel open a few inches. The young woman on the other side looked relieved.

"Master Tenzin is here with Chief Saikhan. He's asked you to come to his office."

Manners dictated that Asami answer with a warm smile. "I'd be happy to. I'll be there in half a—an hour." It couldn't be that they knew already, they wouldn't have waited this long to ask for her; but a meeting with the Chief of Police still didn't promise anything good. _And now you really have to tell them about it all._ A grey feeling settled over her.

It was already near midday, and there was no hot water left for washing. She let the cold water spill over her hair and watched the streams ribboning down the black strands. She imagined trying to make it back to the building at the time Amon had given. It would be risky, not quite dark yet. And maybe this time it really _would _be a trap.

Asami switched the water off and rubbed her frigid arms. There was only one proper option. She had to—no, she _was_ going to tell the Councilman and the Chief about the note, the address, her father, everything, even if they didn't ask her first.

On a whim, she decided to wear her sleek, practical racing suit. _It's really only the _existence_ of the first note that matters, not the contents..._but no, information about Hiroshi Sato's whereabouts would be just as important. She found herself folding both notes, stacked one atop the other, behind the panel buttoned over her breast.

Her stomach knotted as she left her room. The mental image her father immobilized in the hospital bed, watched over by Amon, jostled with her memory of him under the workshop. She hated what he'd done, resented the lies, the deceit—but Amon had said it was_ because of her _that he was so sick now…

Her pace slowed. Her thoughts were leading somewhere groundless. If nothing else, wouldn't the location of an Equalist center be important to the city's officials? There was no room for bargaining with herself, no excuse to withhold information at all. Asami flipped her hair back and held onto that principled duty all the way to the councilman's office.

The door cracked open at her tepid knock, revealing a man in a metalbender's uniform. He was mostly bald, with faded black hair sweeping up from his ears in abbreviated wings. The rest of his face seemed to droop from them. He looked her up and down once before stepping aside to let her in.

Tenzin, with his angular beard and precise tattoos, was a contrast as he unfolded from behind his desk and greeted her with his usual benign courtesy. "Asami, thank you for coming. May I introduce Chief Saikhan?"

Asami offered a bow, and silently thanked the spirits that she only had to face this jowly, tired-looking man and not his razor-sharp predecessor. "Pleased to meet you."

"Yes." His disinterested expression didn't change. "Miss Sato, I asked Councilman Tenzin to bring you here to help with the police investigation of Future Industries."

She disliked him already, though she wasn't sure if it was due to his rudeness or his purpose in meeting her. She smiled with accommodating interest and attention anyway as he went on. "We understand that you helped your father with some aspects of Future Industries' business. I'd like to have you go over the accounting records with some of our detectives, to see if you can spot any irregularities, anything that could point to your father embezzling or misdirecting funds for the Equalists."

_Embezzlement,_ of all things. The acid feeling rose again and burned through her attentive, polite facade. Asami crossed her arms. Tenzin's desk was just behind Chief Saikhan, and she categorized the accessories while reigning in irrational anger. _Papers piled with books, black telephone ready and waiting, ink blotter scratched and worn_.

The set reminded her of her father's desk back home. She could see her mother there, tidying a stack of papers on one corner, leaning on her elbows against the green blotter, her hair just beginning to fall from its pins. A tilted smile as she tapped a spot in the thick ledger book where her husband had forgotten to carry a number. Asami remembered standing on tiptoes, trying to see, wanting to help too.

And years later when she really _could_ help, Asami would catch another error and her father would shake his head saying _just like Emi..._

But _of course_ he must have been funding the Equalists, they had so much equipment, it would be ludicrous to deny it. And yet she didn't want to hear it from this officious, unremarkable man. Chief Saikhan talked as if the company's corruption were already a proven fact.

Asami sighed to herself and let it go. There was no real argument she could make against his suspicions.

"Of course. But I didn't really manage Future Industries' books, my father had accountants for that."

"Mm, yes." Saikhan rolled right over her objection, his eyes flicking to Tenzin before returning to Asami. "But there are some items which they don't recognize, and you might. You've been working more and more with Sato—Hiroshi—in recent years, right? Our information says that he expected his daughter would take control of Future Industries when he retired."

She wondered how they'd found that out. Not that it had been a secret, her father had made his plans clear for as long as she could remember, his expansive _someday, Asami, all this will be your _eventually becoming _pay attention, here's the first step to taking apart an engine_ and then _watch how this Cabbage Corp fellow's eyes shift when he's bluffing. _

She didn't want to think about how certain that future had once been, a map with a clear destination labeled Carry On Future Industries.

And she _really _didn't want to think how long it all must have been a lie, what he'd really expected her future to be, with _them, _because then she had to blink away a passing trace of tears

"We'd talked about it," she finally admitted, trying again with a smile that now felt weak and unconvincing. "But I still didn't have any real involvement with the day-to-day business. I'll do what I can, but I don't think I'll be of much help."

Chief Saikhan studied her and cleared his throat. "Nonetheless it will be useful to have someone close to Sato—" A muffled chatter wormed beneath his words. "—examine the evidence and support the investigation—"

He stopped as the noise grew louder. It closed in on the room until Asami could pick out individual voices: Korra, Mako and Bolin, talking over each other. The door swung in and Korra entered first, blue eyes scanning the room until they met Asami's.

Asami would not have thought it possible for her spirits to sink lower, but at Korra's somber look they vanished through the floor. The rationalizations that had carried her through the past twenty-four hours snapped like taut wires. She put her hand over her chest, felt the slight crackle of paper through the cloth.

Mako came stalking behind Korra, all downturned mouth and eyebrows, trailed by his younger brother. Bolin's faint, "Sorry, Asami," was overlapped by Tenzin's "Korra, we're i a meeting. What's going on?" as her friends arrayed themselves inside the room.

Korra looked from Tenzin back to Asami in an open prompt, a silent offer to let her explain_. As if it could help_, Asami thought bleakly.

She addressed the confession to Councilman Tenzin and Chief Saikhan. "I received a note from Amon yesterday. It was delivered to my door." Tenzin's eyes widened with a quiet intake of breath at _delivered to my door._ "About my father. He's sick and I went to see him last night."

A damp resignation spread through her, and she lay one arm over her stomach. "I made Bolin go with me." The last possibility of going back to see her father slipped away.

Chief Saikhan's face didn't change, but his eyes were bright beneath the heavy lids. He opened his mouth, but Tenzin held up a hand. "Asami, this is very serious. When were you going to tell us about it?"

_When_. He was giving her the benefit of the doubt, and she knew she should appreciate it; but it was humiliating in its own way. As if she were child who needed to be prompted into good behavior.

Which she _was_, because the answer, examined in the stark light of now, was _maybe today, maybe never._ "I—I don't know. I didn't want to hide it."

Mako weaved past Korra to confront her. "Asami, you told us you were taking it to Tenzin yesterday!" He was flaring beneath a veneer of control, his posture stiff and sharp. One hand fisted on his hip as he stabbed a finger toward the window. "How could you drag Bolin out there, in the middle of the night? He's already been kidnappped by them once before! What were you _thinking_?"

"Hey, I offered to go! I told you that!" Bolin piped up from his post beside the door. Mako ignored him. "Don't you remember what happened at your _house_? Or at the arena? How could you be so—so _careless_?"

Asami was pretty sure he was holding back what he really wanted to say, which was _how could you be so stupid?. _And he made it sound like she'd forced Bolin to go along, and done it all on a whim, without taking any precautions. The bitter spur of his notable absence of concern for _her _safety only made it worse. "I didn't _drag_ him," she snapped. "And we were careful. Nothing happened!"

"But why didn't you tell us you were going?" This time it was Korra moving between them, pulling Mako away with a hand on his shoulder. "We would have helped." Tenzin cleared his throat meaningfully and she cringed. "Uh, that is—"

"We can discuss this at the station," Saikhan commanded. He drew everyone's attention as he strode to Tenzin's desk. His reserved, sleepy demeanor had vanished completely. "Tenzin, I'm going to call ahead and let them know to expect us."

Dread clamped down on Asami. "Are you—am I under arrest?"

"No," Tenzin said, just as Saikhan replied, "Not yet." The two men exchanged challenging stares, before Tenzin turned back to Asami. "We should talk here first, get all the facts about this—incident. It could be Asami doesn't even need to go to the station."

He was being kind again, with a voice steeped gentle forgiveness that she didn't deserve. Asami felt like a gesture was needed in response, something to show she wanted to help. "Whatever you think is best," she said humbly. "I have the note here."

She unsnapped the panel over her jacket and reached inside. The slips of paper slid against each other, the first note on top and the second…

_No one no one knows about the second one. _

The thin, desperate thought shot up like a firework, and exploded—she'd never told Bolin about Amon being in the room with her father, what they'd talked about, and he didn't know about the time tonight, he didn't know, _they didn't know._ The secret knowledge returned an odd sense of hopefulness and defiance to her at once.

She pinched the first note between her fingers, racing through the connections. The second one was unnecessary, the address was what mattered and the presence of Equalists on Air Temple Island and that information was out, there was nothing more she could do. Just one more time, just once, she'd see her father again before he was arrested. It wouldn't hurt anything, and who knew what was going to happen after they took him?

Asasmi withdrew her hand and held the folded paper out to Chief Saikhan.

"What kind of medical care is available to prisoners?" she heard herself asking.

* * *

Tenzin left to alert the White Lotus guards while Saikhan spoke to Asami and the others in turn. Mako and Korra had little to say, but Bolin gave an antic retelling of last night's escapades. Asami followed where he left off, describing the room and her father's condition in detail, excising the part about the third person in the room with them.

Saikhan waited until Asami concluded her account, then informed her that he would withhold further questions until they were downtown. Her friends made noises of dissent, but relented when Asami, hiding her own reluctance, assured them she'd be fine. She was allowed to fetch her purse from her room before Saikhan led her out of the building and toward the dock. Hard stares beneath peaked blue and white caps followed her the whole way.

Asami waited on a hard bench as Saikhan made arrangements for the ferry to leave ahead of schedule. A shadow crossed the boards, and then Korra was there, sitting herself tentatively beside Asami and wrapping her fingers around the edge of the seat. "Hey, Asami." Her voice was low. "I'm sorry about your Dad."

"Thank you." A White Lotus guard watched them with fierce attention from a few yards away. Asami turned her head to watch Saikhan talking to the ferry captain instead. She wondered if the captain was describing how she'd commissioned the late night trip. "I'm sorry about—everything else."

Korra sighed and rubbed her arm. "It's just when Mako found out from Bolin—and we really did think that you would tell Tenzin about it."

"I didn't want to put anyone else in danger." She could say that much at least and be telling the truth. She still didn't want to, that's why she was going to go back alone. _One more time. _

Korra followed her gaze. "Watch out for him. He works for Tarrlok."

Asami glanced back at the sudden change of subject. "Huh?"

Korra nodded at Saikhan. "I went with Tenzin to his swearing-in thing. He appointed Tarrlok to the head of a commission to deal with Amon and Equalists." She looked down, a shadow falling over her face. "He said—I mean Tarrlok—said I was a half-baked Avatar. Because I can't airbend."

The shift in mood was reminiscent of her reaction to the note yesterday morning and her unhappiness pulled Asami momentarily from her own. "That's not true, Korra—"

Korra waved a hand. "Yeah, Tenzin already said. But it is kind of true. I _can't _airbend. And I haven't been able to do anything to stop Amon."

_And what would Amon have done if it had been Korra accompanying her last night?_ Blunt reality struck Asami—Mako had been right, she could have led Korra, the Avatar, straight to Amon.

She thought of the second note again, the plan she was building for herself alone. "About that…"

"We're ready to go." Saikhan approached them just as Councilman Tenzin strode down the sloped ramp from the other direction. Bolin was at his heels, with Mako close behind, arguing. "—need to go with her. There's nothing you can do."

"We'll leave it to the police." Tenzin's orange robes were rippling around him as he paced past, his monastic composure obviously fraying. "Do you need anything else, Saikhan?"

Bolin raised his hand. "Ooh, do you need me to go too?"

"No!" Mako snapped, "You—" He looked at the chief's frown, and seemed to rethink his words. "Bolin's already told you everything about what he did for Asami," he finished with a wary look in his golden eyes.

Saikhan eyed the eager earthbender. "I don't think we'll need you right now, young man." He drew Tenzin aside to talk in a low voice.

"Aww." Bolin slumped with a moue of disappointment. Asami knew he'd been trying to come along for her benefit, so she wouldn't have to be alone again, but she felt a little relieved that she wouldn't have to worry about what to do with him. In some ways, she could sympathize with Mako.

"Knock it off Bolin," Mako tapped his brother's arm. "You don't need to get in any more trouble for her." He didn't acknowledge Asami, sitting only a few feet away, and her sympathy switched off. It shouldn't have stung, the way he ignored her—he had every right to be furious, she understood that more and more with each passing minute—but it did anyway.

It was strange to think that just yesterday she'd been thinking wistfully about ways to win him back. She tried to recall the last time her boyfriend had actually held her, or touched her, or even looked at her with affection. Their first night here, maybe, when she'd cried out of sheer exhaustion at the upheaval of the past days and he'd been strong and solid and _present_. Not since then.

Their mutual hostility had come later, when she'd pushed back against his increasing remoteness, and then begun to see signs of truth in Ikki's gossip. It suddenly seemed impossible to think there had _ever_ been anything like love between them.

She looked back at the Air Temple, its angled tower aglow in the early afternoon sun. She had a vague memory of visiting this place as a child, being shown around the public parts of the island—something to do with her father's business, or a maybe a school tour. For all of Tenzin and Pema's welcoming hospitality, she was as much an outsider now as she'd been back then.

"Asami, I'm going to accompany you and Chief Saikhan to the station, but we really should leave now." Tenzin's gentle reminder called her back to the present.

"Alright." She rose from the bench. Korra stood as well and surprised her with a swift, crushing hug. "We'll see you later, right?" Bolin stood to one side as she started to follow Saikhan and Tenzin and saluted her. "Good luck, Asami."

"Thanks. I'm sorry for bringing you guys into this." She spared them both a smile and increased her pace before they could say anything else.

She was nearing the ferry when footsteps and a quiet "Asami" came from close behind. She resisted a petty impulse to pretend she hadn't heard, and forced herself to stop and turn around. Mako's face was pinched in the worried expression he wore when struggling to express himself. She'd thought it was cute when they'd first gone out, was charmed by the way he got tongue-tied when emotional.

He tilted his head, then looked away. Asami let him think, knowing where this was going. She examined the ebbing hurt of rejection, already a faraway thing. One more ending among others, another broken thing to add to the pile of wreckage.

She'd say the Air Acolytes' philosophy of detachment was rubbing off on her, but it felt a lot more like she was just giving in to the inevitable.

"I'm sorry things got so messed up between us."

She waited for more, but it was evidently the best he could manage. Asami almost felt sorry for him. "Me too," she replied. For a moment she thought about some final gesture—a hug, a kiss on the cheek—but found herself turning away instead.

She stepped onto the deck, boarding behind Tenzin and Saikhan. Korra, Bolin and Mako gathered together as the ferry pulled away from the slip. As Asami watched, a streak of red flickered over the ground and up Bolin's side, snaking around his shoulders as he lifted a hand to pet it. They were a perfect trio, her friends, even without the arena. _The Fire Ferrets_.

Asami left the rail, and turned to face the approaching city.

* * *

.

* * *

_A/N: I realize the combination of an M rating and "Amon" and "Asami" promises certain things which are not delivered in these initial, overlong chapters. All I can say is that I'm new at this, and the story will get there eventually. _


	4. Chapter 4

Asami followed Tenzin, following Saikhan, through the police station's crowded lobby and past a high reception counter to a maze of desks occupied by officers, some bent over paperwork and others standing around chatting idly. A silvery-gray brushed steel door led them into a wide hall with walls lined by ornate panels of latticework. The decoration did little to hide the fact that the entire thing was built from metal. Asami felt as if she were walking into a shipping container.

As they went further, she realized there _were _doors, visible only as slight recesses among the other panels. Saikhan stopped before and made a curt motion. Asasmi's heart tripped as the door slid aside to reveal a square, windowless chamber. She took a small step back.

"Really Saikhan, is this necessary?" Tenzin objected.

"Standard procedure, Councilman." He gestured to the room impersonally. "Miss Sato."

_It's something new,_ she told herself. Her boots tapped the floor as she walked past Saikhan, a dull, indistinct sound. _You've never been in here before. You're learning something new._ Not as much fun as learning to drive a new Satomobile prototype, but still. She sat at the small metal table, wiping damp palms on her thighs before folding her hands in her lap.

Tenzin muttered and brushed past Saikhan into the room, stopping next to her chair.

"I need to let my officers know we've arrived," Saikhan said with a frown. "Councilman, you don't need to stay."

"I'll wait with Asami." The Air Nomad's reply was very nearly a snap.

Saikhan hmphed and gave a stiff shrug as he turned away. The door slid closed behind him.

Tenzin's hands were behind his back and from her seated position Asami could see his long fingers twitching against each other. "He's just trying to intimidate you with this room," he told her, looking over his shoulder. "It's a favorite technique of Lin's—Chief—former Chief Beifong. It doesn't mean you're in any real trouble."

Asami nodded and looked back down at her hands. Being alone with Tenzin was as troubling as sitting with Korra. Both were blameless, irrefutable _goodness, _kind, generous and forgiving despite having cares and concerns that equaled her own complaints. Being reminded that she'd let someone like Tenzin down made her want to fidget and swing her feet like a child. She crossed her ankles instead. "I'm just sorry that I caused this mess."

Tenzin heaved a long sigh. "These are troubled times, and the best course of action isn't always clear. Don't be too hard on yourself. The choice you had to make was not an easy one."

_It was easy though, it's just the consequences that are hard_. Asami's throat tightened and she nodded again.

"I'm sure your father still cares for you very much. But you must know how important it is to get him away from the Equalists."

She considered that, trying it out. _Get Dad away from them._ _It's for the best that things will happen this way._ _Being caught will take Dad out of Amon's hands_. "Yes, of course."

It made sense, but the comfort felt brittle, ready to shatter the moment she met the reality of her father being arrested_. _The sour taste returned.

"I just—I just don't understand how he could do this. How he could join them at all?" The words churned out in pace with her thoughts, and she wrung her hands. "How could he throw everything away, and expect me to go with him, like there's nothing wrong with kidnapping people or taking their bending? He was always so…so smart, so kind. I don't understand how he could start thinking like those people, and helping them."

Tenzin's hand touched her back. "I'm sure he started out with good intentions. He's just become..misguided in his goals." Another sigh. "Like I said, it's sometimes hard to see the right path to take."

The door split and Saikhan re-entered, accompanied by a tall man in a long blue coat. He strolled in behind Saikhan, satisfaction etched over the aristocratic lines of his fac_e. Councilman Tarrlok?_, she thought.

Asami had met him before, his was a familiar face at galas, charity auctions—anything where the Sato Family's presence was humbly requested—notable mainly for his expansive sociability. She'd never thought of him beyond that, he simply didn't exist except as the affable and confident figure in blue saying, _Hiroshi, Miss Sato, have you met…_

It was unexpected to see him now, though not particularly intimidating. Except, perhaps, as a representative of the high society that she'd left behind. Asami straightened up and smoothed her expression, hiding any sign that recent hardships were affecting her.

But Tenzin seemed far more displeased to see him. He rounded on Saikhan, motioning to the councilman. A sweep of air fluttered over Asami's hair. "What is _he_ doing here?!"

"Councilman Tarrlok is in charge of all matters related to the Equalist threat." Saikhan met Tenzin's glare with his own for a second, then looked down.

"Thank you, Tenzin" Tarrlok said smoothly, "for bringing Miss Sato here. Don't let us keep you, I'm sure you want to get back to your island and make that your family is protected against this new threat." He slid into the chair opposite Asami with a pleasant smile. "Good afternoon, Miss Sato."

Tenzin was turning red. "It's alright. I'll be fine," Asami assured him. Tarrlok was, in a way, right—she had no right to take any more of Councilman Tenzin's time than she already had. Especially not when she still held that second message against her chest, with no intention of sharing it. "Thank you for your kindness."

Tenzin's departure seemed to steal the last bit of color from the room. Tarrlok clasped his hands in front of his chin as he regarded her. A slight smile leaked from behind his fingers.

Asami had lived a public life, and as Hiroshi Sato's daughter she had been accosted by more oily, unctuous businessmen than she cared to remember. It was almost a relief to be facing someone so polished from head to toe, who had such potential to be unlikable. She met his pale blue eyes.

"Shall we begin?"

* * *

"I didn't look outside the door."

"Did you _hear_ anything outside?"

"No."

"And how large was the room again?"

"Maybe five meters square."

"And who did you say was in there with you?"

Over and over. The councilman repeated questions, requested details once and then again, asked about the building, her visit, her father, the company, alternating between rapid-fire interrogation and casual, off-hand queries. Chief Saikhan hardly spoke at all.

Asami's stomach had started to hurt after the first hour, a persistent ache of tension that waxed and waned with each question and successful answer. As with Saikhan, she'd removed Amon and the second note from her account, left no holes that could suggest they'd been there, yet somehow Tarrlok seemed to have sensed the omission. She could feel him reaching for it between the circular questions, trying to trip her up.

He was obviously enjoying himself. His fingers were now laced beneath his chin as he watched, and questioned, and waited. Asami had resorted to staring at his hands when his face became too much. He had bony knuckles, with lines that spread over his thin skin like cracks.

He was unfailingly polite, but the courtesy was overlaid with a sharp, hungry attentiveness. He _wanted_ something from her and she had none of the power or influence that would ordinarily keep a person like him at bay.

Saikhan had participated at the start, but was quickly overrun by Tarrlok's far more detailed probing. He was leaning against a patterned panel, beetle-browed with crossed arms.

"Miss Sato?" Tarrlok asked again. "Who was in the room with you?"

"I've told you three time already. Is your memory really that poor?" Asami leaned toward him, risking meeting his eyes. Her patience had worn down much faster than her resolve.

Her jibe did nothing to Tarrlok, though his urbane expression folded into something more condescending at the attempt. Saikhan stirred. "Councilman, I don't think there's any further information we can get from Miss Sato. We need to start planning and make some decisions. The task force is assembling—"

"Just one more question." Tarrlok held up a hand. "Miss Sato, you are a non-bender, is that right?"

"_Yes._" Asami's hiss was unintentional. Her composure was starting to disintegrate. "What does that have to with this?"

Tarrlok overlaid his hands on the table, lifting an eyebrow in a cool note of her reaction. Asami clenched her hands so tightly she could feel her nails pitting the palms. They'd been in there for what felt like hours, but he was as crisp and neatly pressed as when he'd walked in. "I'm not accusing you of anything but given your father's associations, and this new…activity on your part, there is reason to think that Future Industries and its considerable resources should stay out of your hands."

"What?" Asami jerked forward, gripping the arms of the chair as she caught herself, fighting a burst of furious indignation. Not that she expected to really take over things anytime soon, not while the company was under investigation, but still she'd meant to keep it going somehow, someday, but he was making it sound like—

Tarrlok sat back, opening up with breezy confidence. "Most likely, the company's assets will returned to your control in due course—if it can be proven that it was more than a front for Amon and the Equalists. For now, we can't risk any more money going to the terrorists." He smiled beatifically over her outraged gasp. "I understand that you're a guest of the Air Nomads. You shouldn't need to worry about money until this is all sorted out."

_I win_, it was written all over his arch look, like a driver who'd just lapped her to pass the finish line. _Why_ though, why was he going so far, why was he out to get her? Her head felt hot and light and she realized she had forgotten to eat today. "I'm not. An Equalist." Her jaw was stiff as she spoke.

Tarrlok pushed back from the table, and stood. "But you _have_ been meeting with them, and we can't give anyone special treatment." He adjusted his coat and nodded to Saikhan, who opened the door for him obediently.

At the threshold he paused and said over his shoulder, "Do give the Avatar my regards."

_That_ clicked into place, Korra's disclosure this morning coming back—this was about Korra, and maybe Tenzin too, something to do with whatever problem he had with them. This _politician_ was using the future of the company, _her_ future as some kind of petty, stupid challenge to the Avatar.

Saikhan followed Tarrlok as Asami seethed in her seat. He didn't even bother to look at her as he said, "I'll have someone show you out."

_Someone _turned out to be a bored clerk, who led her back to the station's entrance and left her there.

Asami didn't think herself to be particularly entitled—not compared to some of the pampered nobles she'd known in her previous life, anyway—but the offhand treatment was a cap to the insults of the day, a clear message of how little she mattered in this city. The front door swung shut behind her as she stared down to the street and the indifferent passersby.

She fixed her purse on her shoulder and started down the steps. Asami Sato, potential terrorist sympathizer and tool for a politician's squabble, marched off into the dimming evening with her head held high for the benefit of nobody at all.

After a few blocks, her temper had eased enough to check the time, and her pocketbook—she had enough yuans for a taxi back to the ferry and the temple, if she chose. It was the safer, wiser course. Tenzin and Korra were at least sympathetic; Tarrlok and Saikhan practically thought she was an Equalist already. It was more than enough reason to abandon this vain, half-baked idea of trying to see her father again.

A clock somewhere in the distance chimed, and an unreasonable, excitable voice reminded her that the time Amon had given her was ticking closer.

Asami tried to consider her options dispassionately as she stepped to the edge of the sidewalk and scanned the gray-black traffic for a taxicab. There was no doubt that the police were going to act as soon as possible. She drummed her fingers against the pocketbook. Could it be tonight? If the metalbenders went in without knowing that Amon would be there—but then if she went back and warned the police now, it would raise questions like _why didn't you mention this before _and _what did he tell you _and Saikhan and worse, Tarrlok…and one way or another it would come out that Amon had invited her to visit again and that she'd meant to go.

The idea of confessing in the middle of the police station surrounded by those men in their severe slate-colored uniforms added a new edge to her reluctance. Not even Tenzin's mercy could get her out of an arrest.

Asami stepped away from the curb as a blue-painted cab rolled by. Of course it was wrong to even consider going back now, this day had been nothing but a lesson in how stupid it had been to go just _once_, and yet, and yet…

If the raid happened, would it happen before or after the time he'd given?

* * *

She got lost a few times on her way back to the abandoned building—city streets were much different when walking them instead of driving—and each wrong turn increased the agitated worry that the police would get there before her.

Bolin's handholds were still in place, faintly visible in the last of the twilight. She looked up, half expecting cables to come shooting down from the sky, and started the climb with haste.

She slowed on the last set of bricks and tested her balance before moving her hands to the windowsill, meaning to open the window and swing herself inward in one motion.

It was already open, and Asami just barely saw her father's bed before Amon filled her view.

Instinct threw her back and her fingers lost their purchase on the ledge. For a breathless moment she felt herself pull away from the wall before Amon seized her arm and caught her fall. He lifted her up and through the window in a swift, sure motion. The momentum threatened to send her tumbling onto the carpet and she had to take a few graceless steps before regaining her balance.

Amon was stepping away as she righted herself and Asami realized belatedly how close she'd just been to him—her chest flat to his, his arm around her waist. For a second there she'd _clung_ to him.

"—was not certain if you would be able to visit." Amon was standing at ease, apparently unperturbed by the drama that had just played out while embarrassment crawled through her. She wanted to cringe away from the unchanging mask and hide the warmth in her own face. She never likedfeeling helpless or needing to be saved from danger—it was so _expected _of someone like her—but still, being near a certain kind of strength had its appeal, there was a sense of protection there that she _did_ like_…_Asami turned to her father's bed, taking the excuse to hide her discomfort.

"I—um, I had trouble getting away." Hiroshi was asleep again. She went to his side, and hoped Amon wouldn't follow. "How is he?"

"Still recovering," Amon said behind her. "He was quite happy to hear that you had come to see him however."

Asami didn't quite know what to make of that, gratification meeting the unsettling reminder that Amon actually chatted with her father about her. "Oh."

She realized she'd been expecting, in the back of her mind, that he'd be awake this time. But what could she say if he was? _The police are going through Future Industries' accounts because they think you were embezzling. They've closed the factories and cordoned off the whole estate. I'm broke and living on Air Temple Island. I think Mako and I have broken up. _

Actually, he'd probably like that last one.

She sighed, watching his face; the sculpted mustache and sideburns, painted with ever more gray, over his downturned mouth, the wide cheeks just beginning to draw tight over sharp-angled bones. He never looked quite right without his round glasses. She leaned over to hug him as best as she could. This would be the last time she'd see him for a long time, maybe the last time he'd be out of prison. She didn't think the Council would give him a light sentence.

And that was assuming that this raid or whatever it would be didn't make him worse…but the police would be careful, she had to believe that.

"Can you tell him—tell him I love him," she said without lifting her eyes, trying not to think that she was saying this to Amon. "And that I'm sorry the Equalists—" She fumbled for some phrasing that wouldn't cause offense. "I'm sorry this had to come between us. This difference in beliefs."

It sounded trite and not nearly enough, but she wouldn't apologize for stopping him that night beneath the workshop, whatever else happened.

_But what about when he finds out how you led the police to him now?_ Her nervousness came back, barbed and writhing. They would be here soon, too soon.

"I will relay the first part. The other…" Amon came over to stand on the opposite side of the bed. "I do not think it would benefit Hiroshi's health to hear it."

"Oh—well, right." She half-turned away, disappointed and took a step toward the window. "I should go."

"There's no need to rush. You should have half an hour before the guards return."

"Yes, I…they—my friends might notice if I'm gone too long." She was just being realistic, not a coward, she couldn't be caught here...

"Of course. I notice you came alone this time."

An inarticulate noise from Hiroshi saved Asami from the need to respond. His eyes were opening—blinking closed—opening again. He turned his head as Asami stumbled to him. Her desire to leave was swept away by a swell of hope and happiness and tearfulness. Dad saw her, now he knew she was there for him…but he still looked so tired, so _dull_. She wanted to help him up, get him out of the bed, it wasn't like him to lie limp as if he couldn't find the energy to move.

She stumbled to his side as awareness seemed to break through the fog, his breath drawing in and releasing with a sigh of her name. She saw relief in the weak smile. His hand escaped the sheets to take hers. "You're here. You've changed your mind."

That _assumption_ again—but she had no ire left for it. The room had the same muted peace as last night, soft-edged shadows closing in until it was just her and him in a lacuna that held only family and the past. Both of which would resume crumbling away as soon as she left this place. "No." Her voice broke. "I'm just here to visit."

"To see you," she added desperately, as his thick brows lowered. The present was intruding all the same.

"You mean...you're still with those benders?" His voice was weak and wheezing. He let go of her hand and began struggling to rise on his elbows. "Asami—"

"Calm down, Hiroshi." Amon spoke with drawn-out reassurance as he eased her father back down. Hiroshi looked up, apparently noticing Amon for the first time. Asami wondered what the mask looked like to someone who worked with Amon every day. Would familiarity make that eerie smile seem comforting?

"Your daughter has taken great risks to see you," Amon told him. "Across the city, alone. This is her second visit at night. She's been very worried."

"Alone, at night?" Hiroshi's face softened with an achingly familiar concern. "Asami dear, that's not safe—there's the Triads, you shouldn't—"

"I can take care of myself, Dad." She reached for his hand again. "You know that."

"Of course, of course." His hand barely tightened around hers, and his eyelids lowered. "I am glad to see you, my dear. I just hoped that this time…" He faded back into sleep.

Asami bit her lip. He'd only been awake for a few minutes, and just barely so; it couldn't be a good sign. "Is he getting worse?" she asked.

Amon resumed his usual impassive pose. "He might be. This visit may have caused some undue stress."

It wasn't her fault, none of this was her fault, and yet it was…her dad still worried about her, he was glad to see her.

It shouldn't be possible to betray him, not after everything he'd done. She reminded herself of Tenzin's words, it was for his own good to get him away from the Equalists. She slipped her hand from under his unresponsive fingers.

"Don't blame yourself," Amon added. "It's a measure of your importance to him. He's always taken a very personal interest in defending non-benders against the violence caused by bending. Fear for the safety of one's family is a powerful motivation." He paused. "Of everything that he's risked for our cause, losing his family is the one thing he truly regrets. You have been very thoughtful in coming here."

_Amon _comforting her once again, telling her she wasn't to blame. Asami closed her eyes and smiled at the absurdity, a tight, bitter twist to her lips. She was utterly tired of this day, of the last few weeks. She was sick of being scoured by guilt and doubt and loss in a storm without end.

She opened her coat, taking out the second note at last, and crumpled it in her fist without looking.

It had been so easy to hate the Equalists after everything fell apart: they were the faceless extremists that threatened innocent people and corrupted her father.

Her mother had been innocent too when the Agni Kais came, her father as well until he'd lost her—left alone to keep building Future Industries into a lasting legacy, which now men like Tarrlok could take it apart because they felt like it, and it wasn't always benders who were to blame but did that mean the outrage itself came from nothing?

She was feeling the other side of it now, or maybe the shape of it. Tenzin's weary sigh, _I'm sure he started out with good intentions, the best course of action isn't always clear. _If the world turned hard and unfair—it had just barely for her, she knew, compared to others—but if it dug too deep too many times, left you angry, alone, uncertain, helpless…if that's how Dad had felt, all those years ago, was it so unbelievable he could have turned to others who might understand? Who was she to just take that away from him, and offer nothing else?

She opened her eyes, and studied Amon. From so close she could see the edge of the mask curving against his jaw and chin, the pale slivers of skin that disappeared into the hood. _He's just a man,_ she thought._ Dangerous—but human. _

Like Saikhan, like Tarrlok_._ But Amon was the one watching over her father.

Something sheared off within her.

"I've told the police about this place. They found the other note." Asami opened her hand and the balled-up paper fell onto the bed. She met Amon's eyes, half shadowed under the mask. Her knees felt curiously weak. "I didn't tell them about this one, but they'll still be coming here, soon. Probably tonight." Her hands were sweaty again. "Councilman Tarrlok and Chief Saikhan are in charge of it. They started planning this afternoon, right after they questioned me. I told them what I knew about the building, though it wasn't much."

Her second confession of the day. It felt very different from the first. Asami looked down and fidgeted with the snaps on her jacket, trying to feel certain about having done it. The vitality seemed to be draining from the reasons that had seemed so strong just a second ago, leaking away beneath a voice that said with horror, _w__hat did you just do?_

The question started repeating like a distant train whistle: as she watched Amon leave_—_as figures dressed in olive and dull red shouldered past her_—_as someone was taking her elbow. _What did you just do?_

She'd meant to leave by the window again, she remembered suddenly. She twisted around but it was already shuttered. One of the figures was reaching for the lantern, and then the only light left was a greenish glow coming from the goggles in their insectoid hoods. Two of them exchanged low-voiced instructions as they maneuvered her father's bed out. He remained slumbering throughout.

Asami was guided to the door.

_I made my choice._


	5. Chapter 5

When Asami was just five her mother took her to the theatre to see a play.

When it ended, her mother stood by the stage and talked with other people in fancy dress. Asami leaned into her mother's skirt and held her hand, hoping she would get done soon so they could go home. She was yawning into her long sleeve of her dress when a woman in orange and yellow crossed behind the semicircle of adults, took one look at Asami and stopped to ask if Mrs. Sato's daughter would like to see backstage.

Asami recognized her costume from the play. The awe of seeing one of the characters up close, beaming and lively and _real_, was enough to make her forget to be sleepy. She begged her mother for permission to go. The woman led Asami up to the stage, which had seemed enchanting from her seat but turned out to be a plain arc of wood ringed with lamps. There were shadowed columns on either side and the woman told her that was where the actors came and went.

Asami followed her through one, going from hot lights to a humid dark cluttered with painted flat icebergs propped against walls, bolts of red and yellow cloth lying in messy rolls, wooden swords shoved upright into a can like umbrellas in a stand. She spotted a sagging blue mound that had been a water spirit just a little while ago. There were boxes, ropes and pulleys everywhere being pushed around or pulled by men in dusty black.

They passed an array of people milling around, more characters half in and out of costume, pulling off their wigs and wiping away makeup. Some of them saw Asami and stopped to talk or give her smile. Asami noticed a ladder and looked up, way up to a ramp that stretched from one end of the stage to the other. She pointed and said _can I climb that?_ The woman laughed, told her it was called a 'catwalk' and showed her how to work the curtains instead.

Years later Asami could barely remember the play, but the experience of going backstage remained.

The Equalist's hand was locked around her forearm, moving them briskly through the half-lit hallway. Silhouettes hustled from one room to another, clutching fistfuls of paper or staggering under armloads of equipment. Asami felt porous, floating. Sights streamed through her, escaping before she could get a good look at any of them.

Her father's attendants left them at a turn in the hall. "They're taking him to the elevator," her guide explained, when Asami stumbled trying to follow. "You'll see him at the base."

The voice, though muffled behind brass piping and black fabric, was feminine and sympathetic. Asami spent some seconds puzzling over it.

It was at the top of a concrete staircase that she actually _heard_ her, and balked. "I'm not _going _with you." The heady lightness ebbed.

Her guide went down one step, still holding Asami's arm. "I'm just following orders here. I'm supposed to make sure you get to the truck ASAP and in one piece." She started down the stairs.

"What_ truck_?" Asami recoiled and angled herself away, uncertain of anything right now, but ready for a fight if the near future involved being thrown in the back of some van.

Weird green lenses turned on her for a moment, and the Equalist released her arm with a sigh.

She reached below her chin and peeled the hood off. Underneath was a young woman with flat grey eyes over round brown cheeks, and a mouth pursed with impatience. Her tied-back hair was frizzed where the fabric stuck to it.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the metal rail. Asami noted that one good kick would send her over to the flight below.

"The truck taking you to the base," she said conversationally, and then shrugged. "Unless you want to stay here and get arrested_—_though believe me, Tarrlok's pet squad doesn't go any softer on _suspected_ Equalists than they do on the real deal. There's plenty of people here with fractures and broken bones who can tell you." She squinted up at Asami. The hood dangled limp from her hand tucked behind her elbow. "Sometimes they end up joining _after_ the cops get through with 'em."

Asami plummeted from her dreamy remove back to earth in awareness of _where_ she was, _who_ she'd just helped. She wasn't an Equalist but she might as well be, she'd just informed on the police for them, set in motion the escape now spreading throughout the center. The police would almost certainly arrive to an empty and abandoned building.

Asami put a hand on the wall for support as her vision tunneled. Her hair fell in waves on both sides of her face. What _was_ she going to do now? Run back to Air Temple Island and wait for Saikhan to come calling with his metalbenders?

_But I should be fighting Equalists, not helping them, what have I done—_

Gloved fingers cut across her view. "Asami." The Equalist was level with her again. Her eyebrows were knit together and the annoyed twist of her face had been replaced by worry. "I didn't mean to scare you? I'm sure they wouldn't really hurt you. But you'll be a lot better coming with us."

She splayed her hand on her chest and opened her eyes wide. "My name's Maya. OK? I'm Maya and it's my job to get you out of here safely."

Her slow, soothing tone stirred up a familiar indignation. She was confused, not a _child._ "I can take care of myself."

The refrain echoed what she'd said to her father, what she'd said scores of times to over-concerned and doubtful adults._ I_ can _take care of myself_. Hadn't she always meant it?

_I can take care of myself even around them._ Like a gleam in the dark, Asami saw something she could salvage from this mess, maybe something she should have done from the start. "You said I'd see Dad—my father again at the base?"

"Yes!" Maya nodded vigorously. "You can go see him as soon as you arrive." She opened the hood and slid it over the crown of her head, then tugged it back down to cover her face. The goggles looked different, brighter and wider. "So how about I accompany you as you take care of yourself in getting to the garage?"

_Get Dad away from them. _She clung to the lifeline as she followed Maya down the stairs. It would mean believing that they wouldn't shove her in a cell—_I have to be too important, if Amon was sending for me—_or force her to join, somehow—_Dad wouldn't let them, he wouldn't_.

It meant believing that she could talk to her father, bring him around. But he had a bull pig stubborn resistance to force: if he was arrested he'd only hold tighter to the Equalist creed. She was his daughter, she _could_ make him see reason. _Dad wasn't always like this, he'd been good._ He was just misguided, like Tenzin said. She could take care of herself, she could go in and bring him back out safely.

_And maybe if he turns against the Equalists and helps the city, they'll give Future Industries back._

They came to a low cement room crammed with trucks, with backs opened and being steadily filled with crates and equipments. A handful of people doing the loading wore uniforms like Maya, but the rest were dressed in ordinary clothes, with dark bandanas tied across their faces. Orders and questions called out over the resound of idling engines. Exhaust was thick in the air and the congestion raised an instant, nauseated headache in Asami. It wasn't much worse than any Future Industries factory, but she still began to feel light-headed again, close to overwhelmed.

Two Equalists pulled cables to lift a wide garage door, letting fresh air in. The door was made of plywood sheets nailed together by a haphazard arrangement of two-by-fours. "That's our cue," Maya said.

She clamped onto Asami's arm again, and Asami was too dizzy to object as she was half-dragged to the passenger side of a plain gray truck near the makeshift door. She climbed into the cab on her own, just relieved to get away from the clamor and noxious fumes.

"As requested, sir." Maya spoke past Asami.

"Thank you. Go with Liu for the final sweep." Asami looked to her left, at the speaker.

Her back hit the door as it swung shut. The momentum knocked her head against the window hard and through an incandescent bloom of pain, she heard the transmission change gears. The truck began to move and Asami felt for the door latch with growing alarm. It rattled up and down in her hand.

The garage gave way to a narrow back street dusted with snow. Amon reached across her to block her efforts. "Please calm down, Miss Sato."

Asami subsided immediately, if only to get his fingers off her. Amon withdrew his arm, but kept on watching her.

She wedged against the door, squeezing her hands over her knees to keep from clawing at it again. The rush of panic had eased when he took her wrist—her heart was beating almost normally again—and she couldn't tell if her remaining tension was from fear or self-consciousness about her overreaction. What had she expected, that Amon would just _walk_ back to wherever their base was? Of course he would be in one of the getaway vehicles. It just happened to be the same one as hers.

Asami rubbed the pulsing soreness in the back of her head, and fought every unwilling fiber of her being to make herself sit up and away from the door like a normal person. She turned to face Amon. Just past him the driver cast a curious glance at her, and looked quickly away.

Amon was still taller than her seated, though his shoulders were not quite as broad as she'd thought, their width was enhanced by leather guards that curved around them and went down over his upper arms. His gray coat was a coarse material, sleeveless over a plain black shirt. _Just a man. _

The traces of his actual face under the mask, the ones she'd seen earlier, were invisible in the dim cab. Asami tried to focus on the shadowed eyeholes in the mask. She couldn't afford to be afraid of him, not if she was going to see this through.

His eyes were a pale amber, like Mako's—or maybe that was the flicker of streetlamps going by.

"I'm sorry. I was surprised to see you. I didn't know I was being—" _kidnapped? Recruited? _

"Maya should have told you that you would be traveling with me." It was unnerving to talk to him face-to-face, see that somber voice pouring from an unmoving mouth. "When the building is discovered to be empty, the police will come to the obvious conclusion that we were warned ahead of time, and they will look to you."

To her relief, he turned back and settled into the seat, crossing his arms. "Hiroshi would never forgive me if anything happened to you." The comment glowed with a mild amusement. "You will be under no pressure to participate in our activities, but you will be in a restricted area and there will be _no_ contact with your young friends."

He said it matter-of-factly. "You may leave now if you so choose, but you will fall out of our protection. Regardless of your father's wishes."

A part of her shouted _yes, leave now, go go go, _pelted her with exciting images: smashing the window with her heel, kicking the door open, tearing Amon's hand with her teeth when he tried to stop her.

But then what would all of this have been for? He said they'd let her leave right now, and wash their hands of her.

The streets outside the smoke-tinted glass were empty, and dyed wet orange-yellow by the streetlamps. A more down-to-earth scenario presented itself: standing on the sidewalk alone as the truck's taillights shrank into the distance and her father vanished from her life once again.

She'd have nowhere to go but Air Temple Island, slinking back to face Korra, Tenzin, Bolin, _Mako_. For all she knew they would be waiting up for her, unable to believe she had lied _again_, waiting with puzzled faces for her to explain it all. _Hello everyone, I'm still not an Equalist, I just help their leaders escape the law. _And then—Saikhan, then Tarrlok, then, most likely, a jail cell.

Asami made up her mind. There was a course here, she had seen it. She just had to be brave and follow it through to the end.

A burr of static from the dash snapped her attention to the source, an unobtrusive box with speakers. A gloomy insight ensued—Dad had put police scanners in all of their cars. She'd always assumed he'd done it out of excessive concern for her safety.

She wondered if she could really do this, turn her father away from the tide that had swept him up, when he'd done so much to help it grow.

Voices were breaking over the scanner. "It's starting," the driver said, gesturing to the speaker with his elbow as he kept his eyes on the road. Scattered reports—_on the roof—approaching the location now—water tanks in place—_filtered into the cab. A sickly anticipation constricted in her chest.

Amon leaned forward and shut the scanner off. "The Lieutenant will have a report of it later."

The driver shrugged.

The truck rolled on, passing the city limits and climbing into the foothills. Pitch-dark evergreens loomed over the narrow road and flecks of snow careened in and out of the headlamps' beams.

Boredom stepped in to relieve her anxiety for the time being. Asami never liked being a passenger, not unless it was on a date where she could enjoy the comfort of burrowing against solid warmth. _Especially on nights like this._

She felt, suddenly, the cold absence of a pair of arms around her, and the closeness of her fellow passenger and wished more than ever then Amon wasn't so near to her right now. Especially not after the incident at the window.

She wished his eyes hadn't reminded her of Mako, reminded her of Mako's simple solicitous affection when things got complicated. She could use someone to hold on to right about now, someone to surround and support her while she tried to make things right.

But all that had broken apart in her hands and drifted away on a current and she would have to do without.

Asami leaned against the door, cradling her forehead on the cold glass.

* * *

Voices punctured her cozy sleep, loud and close and inconsiderate. Asami curled down further and met empty space. Her head and neck ached.

She opened her eyes.

The truck was parked, and the cab empty except for her. There were two men standing next to her window, the driver talking to a gray-haired man. Asami tried the latch again. It didn't work, but the men turned at the noise and the driver, a reedy young man with short black hair and a delicate face, opened the door from the outside. Chill air swept over her skin as she ignored his hand and climbed down from the truck.

They were in another garage it seemed, this one much larger. Asami could see an empty field outside stretching away into blackness.

The driver began to chatter while she got her bearings. "Miss Sato, my name's Wen." He was animated and energetic, nearly bouncing on his toes. "Maya had to go to a different base, so Amon asked me to see you to your room." He expanded with apparent pride at the mundane task.

"What about my father?" Asami asked, pulling her jacket straight and smoothing her hair over one shoulder. She felt stiff and creaky, and sort of grumpy.

"Oh—he's in the medical ward. It's not as sophisticated as the one in town, but they have all the necessary equipment to care for him. He'll need to rest after the trip though so it'll be better if you see him tomorrow." Wen reeled off the answer like he was reading from a script. Asami suspected it had come directly from his leader.

"Shall we go?" He gestured to the door. "Uh, right this way."

'This way' led them across the field, which turned out to be packed dirt, stiff with frost that crunched beneath her boots. The cold cut through her clothes but the briskness was invigorating.

Once she was far enough from the garage, Asami did a slow pirouette to look at the rest of the base. It was ringed by rocky slopes, rearing into mountains draped with snow. They had to be in a valley somewhere in the range that sprawled north of the city. Several cement buildings were clustered around an immense warehouse near the center of the field. She could see paved paths radiating outward from it, leading nowhere.

_This is an airfield_. She remembered this project, her father had worked on and off on some revolutionary new idea with his engineers for _years_—aircraft that could be flown by just one person, like driving a Satomobile. He'd talked about needing a whole new factory outside the city just to build and test the prototypes.

She'd never known why he'd dropped the matter but, like the scanners, the unfortunate truth was slotting into place. She spun around again, taking in the _size_ of the base—he'd given up on a massive project, handed over a huge chunk of developed manufacturing property lock and key, all to the anti-bending movement.

Comprehending that fact was as disorienting as finding the vast factory beneath their mansion; but there were no friends to rescue here, no enemies to fight, no point of focus to distract from the ground tilting beneath her.

She didn't realize she was sagging until someone had jumped forward and caught her.

"Miss Sato?" Wen's voice came from several feet away. Asami stiffened, then stilled as Amon propped her up.

She was determined not to make another scene. She studied the dull metal snaps bordering coat and weighed the embarrassment of falling down against the indignity of staying in his arms.

"Are you alright?" A flat-voiced query that matched the impersonal arm around her shoulders.

_No, because your crusade has taken my father's life and his business, and mine too. _She pushed away with a hand on his chest and stood on her own.

"_Yes_, I'm fine thank you. Just tired." If he noticed her sudden irritation it didn't show. He turned to Wen.

"Wen, you were supposed to take Miss Sato to her quarters, were you not?"

Wen flinched under Amon's glance. "Yes sir Amon, just doing that now."

"Very well." He nodded at Asami, then stepped around her with instant unconcern. She watched him continue on to the warehouse, the awareness of being helped twice in one night by _him_ searing her to the bone. The feeling looping through her stomach had to be anger and chagrin.

"Uh Miss Sato? This way?" Wen disrupted her acrid reflections by leaning uncertainly into her line of sight. He reminded her a little of Bolin.

That was a thought that Asami didn't want to look at at all, so she strode past him toward the building he indicated.

Wen showed her through a disused lobby, then down a plain corridor barely lit by widely spaced sconces. They stopped at a dark wooden door with a brass handle. He unlocked it, then handed her the key.

Gilded warmth poured out as the door swung inward. The room was larger than the one on Air Temple Island, and luxurious where the dormitory had been spare. The lights—electric—were already turned on, illuminating deep red walls behind tastefully coordinated furnishings and décor.

It was the lacquered table set with a tea service and a plate of bean cakes that did her in. Her bemusement condensed into intense suspicion. She rounded on Wen. "What _is _this?"

"Ahhhh…" Wen scratched the back of his head, edging away from her. "I don't know," he finally admitted.

His eyes were sea-green, guileless and unguarded. "I never go in here. Amon told HQ to prepare one of the guest rooms when I radioed ahead to say we were on the way, get towels, food, that kind of thing. This building hardly gets used at all, as far as I know."

Unsatisfied, Asam swung back to the room and stared hard at each finely-crafted item in it. The worst part of it was that it wasn't like she had a reason to refuse, or demand to be put in different quarters—her eyes kept ticking back to the plate of bean cakes—

Anyway, Wen obviously couldn't supply an explanation for the extravagance. Asami fenced off her ire and put on her best guest smile instead. "You mentioned towels?"

Wen showed her the attached bathroom behind a sliding door—small, but outfitted with a real shower and polished brass fixtures. "We've got some people picking up the rest of your things from the Air Temple tonight," he told her as she turned a tap experimentally.

He didn't see her smile vanish abruptly. "They'll think it's the police confiscating your things. It'll all be here tomorrow morning."

His air was that of a maître-d who'd managed to find her a reservation at the last minute. Asami dispensed some words of appreciation, thanked him for his help with a slight bow (which he returned with enthusiasm) and indicated that she was very tired just now so if he wouldn't mind…

Once he left, she let routine take over. Take off boots, align by door. Remove eyeshadow, mascara, lipstick. Wash face. Sit on cushion. Pour tea. Lift cup. Drink.

She was too hungry to ignore her lack of appetite and she went through two bean cakes before her mouth turned dry and her throat closed up. She dropped the third, and covered her face with her hands, propping her elbows on the table.

The Equalists were only going there for stuff, not for a fight; and her friends were all strong benders, Korra was the Avatar. They wouldn't be in danger with this. She whispered the reassurances to herself, willing them to be true. _It's OK. They'll be fine._

By now, the raid would be over and questions would be spreading. By now, chi-blockers were creeping through the Air Temple's dormitories and she was drinking tea in a plush hotel room. _Asami Sato, honored guest of the Equalists. _

She drew her hands down to her chin and tried to lock the fruitless guilt away. She was here with a purpose and it wouldn't do to get distracted. And if Wen could remind her of Bolin, maybe it was a good sign. Maya too, she seemed friendly in a way.

She rose and brushed herself off. Either way, there was nothing to be done right now aside from getting some real sleep.

Asami locked the door and, more for show than anything, pushed the lacquered table in front of it. There were no nightclothes that she could see, but the thought of sleeping in her underclothes seemed wrong, too comfortable, so she unbuttoned her jacket and climbed into bed fully dressed.

She fell asleep wondering if Wen's friends would bring her the electrified glove along with everything else.

* * *

_She's in the underground factory again _and when she looks up the sky is dark blue and splashed over with stars that are never visible from the city. She looks down and there are trucks pulling away, one after the other until she is alone. _Amon's hand closes _on her wrist and then his arm is around her and she's embarrassed because that makes _three_ times now, and she backs up against a satomobile—her first one, her favorite one, shiny and black. _He's leaning_ over her and she falls back to her elbows on the leather seat. She doesn't really see his face when he closes in, just feels it. The heat is almost smothering and all she thinks is that _it's alright no one ever goes in here so it's alright…_

Asami woke flushed and perspiring. It was too dark to say how long she'd been asleep or what time it was; some non-hour between midnight and dawn. She kicked the covers aside and sat up to wait for the heat to fade. After a minute or so, she gave in and undressed.

The bed was entirely more comfortable without her stiff clothes, but the dream settled in as soon as she did, layering the sense-memory of _laying in the backseat_ over her. She cringed beneath the sheets, mortified.

The car was nothing new to her subconscious. It was what she and her racing partner had used the first time, when she was fifteen and driven with reckless passion. And they'd used it again and again, there in the musty track garage with all the enthusiasm of explorers, mapping out brand new territory between them. Even after their relationship ended, she had only sweet memories of that satomobile. She managed to maneuver each successive boyfriend into its backseat at least once.

Yearning dropped through her like a plumb line. She wanted—no, she _needed_—

_Amon,_ it had been_ Amon_ over her. Asami flopped over to lay on her side, huffing in disapproval at herself. It was only a dream, a _really _embarrassing and _completely_ _senseless_ dream. Probably a side effect of all the stress and spending so much time around him in the last two days with Mako still on her mind. That she'd think it on any level felt unseemly, almost obscene. Following through, even to just disperse desire so she could get back to sleep, would only make it more humiliating. Her body would just have to drop the matter.

Asami pressed her legs together and curled up, clutching the pillow to her face.


	6. Chapter 6

The hot shower the next morning was like a gift from the spirits. Asami chose to be amused rather than disturbed by the presence of fine milled soap (lychee, not her favorite scent) and then lotion (moon peach, much nicer). The sense that they, like the rest of the room, were so much set dressing was nothing she could do anything about now.

She combed her hair with her fingers, then rubbed a circle in the steam-covered mirror and sighed at her anemic face. The sleep had done her a world of good, but she still didn't _look _right without some accenting. _They might have added a powder jar or at least some lipstick. _

She opened the wardrobe with trepidation, fearing a rack of skirts and blouses all in her size but it was thankfully empty. She shook out her jacket and trousers from yesterday instead and pressed the worse wrinkles out with her hands.

There was a single window in the room, hidden behind heavy embroidered curtains. It looked out on a wide gap between the peaks where the cloudless sky dipped down into a shallow junction of slopes. A pass, one that might lead to the road out.

The window latched from the inside and the ornamented shutters opened in. Asami noted that it would be easy enough to climb out, with only a few feet to drop to the ground, and filed the observation away, free of intent for now.

She leaned on her elbows, breathing in the frosted air. The fuzz and fear of last night had been cleared away by a full night's rest and she was a little embarrassed by the overwrought, overtired thinking that had ultimately led her here.

But, she reasoned, there _was_ a kind of Air Nomadic logic in having followed the flow of things once they'd been set in motion. She'd been passive and unhappy at the Air Temple fretting over Mako and her father and she could accept this new situation as it was: she was now staying on a secret Equalist mountain base, she had a purpose here, and was working on a plan.

Her hair was drying into stiff ropes, which promised frizzing later. Asami took a final deep breath and shut the window. She ventured forth from the room with confident stride and no idea where she was going.

A truck was backing up to the entrance just as she stepped outside. Asami moved away from the exhaust and waited while the driver's side door opened and Wen climbed out. "'Morning Miss Sato! We've got your things here, just like I said."

Her fresh self-assurance wilted. Asami swallowed. "Thank you Wen. You can put them in my room, I'll sort them out later."

She turned on her heel, not wanting to see them actually unload the suitcases and trunks that had been on Air Temple Island only hours ago.

"Miss Sato, uh wait—" She looked back at Wen. His nose and cheeks were turning red. "I'm supposed to take you to Amon."

Asami affixed another polite and compliant smile to her face and saved the eye roll for after Wen had gone past. Was this how her time would be managed here, with a handler everywhere she went?

Beneath her annoyance was a quieter worry. W_hy do I have to see Amon?_

At least it would be an opportunity to size him up, without a flurry of distractions and upsetting surprises. She suspected hewas going to be the locus of difficulty in whatever approach she took with her father, the figure that could cancel out any arguments she made against this so-called "revolution".

They skirted the enormous warehouse and entered a smaller building in its shadow. Wen pointed out rooms as they passed. "That's the medical center—uh, Amon can tell you where Mr. Sato is—and down that way is the canteen, it's pretty small but there aren't many of us here—and upstairs—this way, please—it's mostly offices and meeting rooms for the heads."

"What's the big building out front?" Asami asked.

"It's the hangar, uh—" Wen fumbled as he caught himself. Asami enjoyed the minor triumph. She'd been right about the airfield part. It wasn't much of a victory, but it was something.

Amon was in a plain room, sitting at a square table that dominated the bare space. Several sheets of paper and a folded newspaper were spread before him. There was a second place set nearby, along with tea and buns. He set down an ink pen as they entered. "Miss Sato, thank you for coming. Wen, you may go back to your duties." The young man jerked and bowed beside her, then scurried away.

This was the first time she'd been alone with Amon, and that inconvenient realization left Asami at a temporary loss until etiquette stepped in to save her. She offered a polite bow. "Thank you for your hospitality."

A short laugh came from the mask, and Asami realized the nicety was perhaps a little too bland for the situation. "I mean, given the circumstances." He gestured to the second chair and she sat.

He took up the pen again and went back to the paper in front of him. She tried to read the dense writing upside down, but it was illegible. She gave up and poured herself tea instead.

Another cup sat before Amon but it was empty. She wondered if he lifted the mask to drink, or if he sipped the tea through a straw. She had to cover an inappropriate smirk conjured by the latter image. He looked up at last, turning the paper face down on the stack and pushing it to one side. "The circumstances are certainly unusual. Are your accommodations acceptable?"

Asami had meant to save inquiries about the extravagance for her father, but she suddenly liked the idea of testing Amon's imperturbable confidence in his operation. "They're lovely." She lifted her cup with serene poise, balancing it on her palm. The steam had a powerful, smoky smell. "Do all the Equalists have such nice rooms on the base? Or did you just happen to have a spare luxury suite laying around in case you had visitors?"

His response was another short laugh, rich and deep in his throat. "This base was donated by your father to our cause _after_ it had been built for Future Industries' business. The building that you're staying in was intended to be quarters for high-level employees and investors. I believe it was to allow them to stay overnight rather than risking the drive through the mountains in the evening, but you'd need to ask your father for details." He cocked his head. "It wasn't built merely for you, Miss Sato."

Another twinge of embarrassment. _You_ s_hould have thought of that._

Amon went on. "I keep a room there, and so does your father. Otherwise, it's not in use. I thought you might enjoy the privacy."

Asami took a sip of tea and found the taste deeply unpleasant. She looked for another point of attack, anything to catch him off guard, and found nothing. "How is my father? I want to see him."

"He is resting, but recovering quickly. The doctor thinks he may be able to leave tomorrow."

"That soon?" She didn't mean to sound skeptical, but he'd looked so sick just last night…

Amon spread his hands. "I did say he was receiving the best care we had available." He pushed the chair back and stood, then paced away with an oratory air. "Medical care without bending made great advances during the Hundred Year War due to the lack of waterbenders, but was pushed aside and ridiculed as 'alternate medicine' once Water Tribe healers returned to reclaim their place. But in certain illnesses, it can be even more effective than traditional water-based healing."

He roved about the room as if too troubled by the issue of non-bender medicine to stay in one place. Asami looked away uncomfortably and bit into a bun. She wondered if Amon really thought she was ready to be swayed to anti-bending fervor by a little zealous lecturing, just because she'd followed them here. She didn't think she had it in her to play along this early in the morning.

Amon stopped near her and pulled the newspaper from the bottom of the stack, handing it over. It was folded over to a second page article headlined _Dragon Flats Raid Yields No Equalists. _She skimmed the short paragraph. It recounted the basic facts of the event, followed by a vague statement from Saikhan about the variability of intelligence and finding some items that the police would follow up on. No mention of either Sato name.

"The police don't like to advertise their failures, and the press always obliges them. If you hadn't warned us, this raid would have made headlines and your father, among many others, would be back in the hands of the bending establishment."

Asami put the newspaper down carefully and gazed into her tea. Gentle ripples were passing over the earth-colored surface._ If you hadn't warned them. _The ceramic heat sank into the pads of her fingers.

Amon's reflection appeared, upside down. "Miss Sato." She looked up. He had his arms behind his back and was tilting his chin down to regard her.

"You are not a prisoner here, and you are not expected to join the cause. If you decide to leave we can discuss the terms. As I've said ,you will be out of our protection at that point. If you stay, you may eventually be able to move about the base with some freedom."

Her doubt receded as quickly as it came under the novelty of finally knowing where she stood here. She didn't like the sound of that _eventually, _though. For all his civility, Amon didn't trust her and she had no way of knowing how deep his suspicion ran. What if he'd guessed her real purpose in coming here already? Asami tried the tea again, struggled to not make a face at it, and eyed him over the rim of the cup while trying to catch some hint of what he really thought.

His leather guards were still in place over his shoulders and limbs. The excess armor seemed out of tune with the pleasant, prosaic setting, as if he were overdressed for a garden party. _Does he even own any other clothes? _It occurred to her that there was something almost costumed in Amon's unvarying appearance. Boots, coat, and armor added piece by piece to create an Equalist leader.

Seeing him as just so many layers gave way to idle speculation about the person underneath: _what is he thinking right now_, _what does he look like,_ and then last night's dream tumbled horribly to the forefront of her mind just as he leaned closer to her, placing his hands flat on the table.

Asami skipped from his arms to his shoulders to his chest before her imagination could start tracing the physique in any them. She settled on his not-face, looming above her. The daylight highlighted the mask's pattern of sallow gold paint, writhing flame-like up the bone-white cheeks and splitting around the red sun on the forehead. The tilted hollows of the eyes and mouth added to its spectral unearthliness. Amon's mask was ostensibly the most costume-like part of his outfit, but it still made her uneasy enough that any lingering sense of intrigue was dispelled.

She tensed against a reflexive shiver. This meeting wasn't going well. She'd already decided last night that being afraid of Amon wasn't an option, and even though seeing him…the _other _way…wasn't an improvement, at least she wasn't at risk of losing her courage about this plan. If she was honest with herself, Asami knew that stealing away one of his most important allies was going to make him seriously angry. Or whatever he experienced in place of anger. And she was pretty sure defying Amon was a little like grabbing a saber-tooth moose lion by the tail.

She sought his eyes again, the reassuring proof of humanity. In the morning light they looked almost grey, lighter than his coat.

Amon seemed to be waiting for her reply. When it became clear she had nothing to say he went on.

"Remember this, Miss Sato: it was non-bender medicine and the Equalists that saved your father. Do you think the police and their healers would have been able to do the same?"

It was disconcerting to hear her own reasoning from last night echoed and transformed by Amon, elevated to a noble, principled stance by his rhetoric of 'non-bender medicine.' Much as she was unconvinced by any Equalist arguments, his voice had a tidal force when he spoke like that.

Asami set the cup down with both hands and dropped them to her lap. She ignored Amon's question and gave him a bland, close-lipped smile_. _"I would like to stay here for Dad's sake."

There. It was out and done and she hadn't even needed to lie. Amon, of course, gave no indication of his opinion about it as he straightened. "Very well. We can visit Hiroshi now if you like."

* * *

Her father was not only awake, he was sitting up and talking to a man with shaggy black hair and an old-fashioned long catgator mustache. They were hovering over a leather-bound portfolio spread open on his lap. He wore a dressing gown, but was neat and groomed with his gold-rimmed glasses perched in place once again.

"Asami!" Joy lit his face as soon as he saw her. Asami hadn't known until that moment how badly she'd missed that expression and she flew forward—ignoring the glare the other man gave her as he snatched the portfolio away—to throw her arms around his neck, clinging to him.

He wheezed a laugh and hugged her back, murmuring _sweetie _to her whispered _daddy _and for a moment she was ten years old again and everything was alright, it would all be ok with them. She squeezed her eyes shut and held tighter, welling over with a nameless bittersweet happiness that she couldn't bear to live without again.

It took a moment before the flood ebbed enough that she could draw back and speak. "I'm so happy to see you better again, Dad."

He held her face with fond regard. "And I'm so happy to have you here at last."

The spell of sentiment broke. She wrapped hand around his wrist and drew back, furrowing her brow. "You do know—you know I'm not joining the Equalists, right?"

He let go of her and waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, Amon warned me. It's enough that you're here _with_ me, Asami. The rest can come later."

She looked back at Amon but he was merely watching the scene, unreadable as ever. The mustachioed man had planted himself beside him, holding the portfolio possessively.

She chewed her lip as she turned back to her father. She didn't want to, but she _had_ to tell him about the company, his company. "Dad—Future Industries—the city has control of it. They've stopped all business while they go through the records looking for ties to the Equalists. I don't know what they're going to do with it."

She braced for his livid reaction, but he only shook his head with a scoff. "Ah, those bender politicians! They have no appreciation for what I've done for this city!"

He was taking the news with unusual ease. She'd seen him respond worse to production delays and Asami knew she should be relieved but…

Her father shrugged. "It will all be taken care of soon enough." He clapped his hands jovially. "Well! In the meantime, I have so much to show you, Asami, I know you're going to love it. Do you remember that project I started a few years ago with—"

A theatrical cough rattled behind her, delivered by the unpleasant man. Her father changed course, undisturbed. ""Well, later. Once you get settled in." He took her face between with his hands again and drew her down to kiss her forehead. "Everything will be _fine _now Asami, you'll see." His voice was warm and certain.

"Your luggage should have arrived by now," the man announced in a harsh voice. He had pale eyes that cut across his gaunt face, and he was narrowing them at her. "Perhaps you should check on it." Asami met his glower with her own haughty stare.

"Thank you Lieutenant," Amon stepped in. "Please continue what you were discussing with Hiroshi. I will show Miss Sato to her room. Report to me when you are finished."

They left as her father and the Lieutenant resumed hovering over the mysterious portfolio. The rude dismissal left her irritated, as did Amon's placid one-sided decision about what she'd be doing next. Asami decided she didn't like walking with him at all her head just barely cleared his shoulders and he moved faster than her.

"Am I going to have a babysitter everywhere I go?" she asked pointedly as he opened the main door for her.

"For the first day, yes. After that, we'll see." It was neutral, but delivered with a finality that told her arguing would be useless.

Amon accompanied her all the way to her door. She remembered what he'd said about having a room in the building as well, and queer anxiety skimmed over her she watched him depart down the unlit hall.

Her trunks and bags had been deposited all along the room's edges. For the second time in as many months, Asami sat on a strange bed in a strange place and surveyed the packed remains of her old life.

She stood up before melancholy could take hold of her again and rummaged through the suitcases until she found the electrified glove, hidden away under books. Relief surged with the electricity as it came to life at the first touch. She tucked it to one side of her bed.

She pulled a sketchbook out out the trunk and curled up in the armchair. It was going to take some thought to figure out what she could do around the restrictions and suspicions, how she could get her father alone to talk to him.

Asami scoffed to herself. _Free to move about. _Not if the rest of the base's occupants were like the Lieutenant.

As she pondered, her pen outlined a race car, an impossibly streamlined model on a winding mountain road.

* * *

She chafed at being confined to her room, but not quite enough to risk what freedom she had by trying to sneak out. When she grew restless she took to pacing, and when that became boring she dug out a boar-pig bristle brush and tamed her hair into its proper shape. She changed her clothes, applied makeup—striking, jeweled colors for confidence—and made a perfunctory go at unpacking.

She lingered over items, swapping things between drawers and hangars, smoothing out wrinkles on the pieces that had been hastily shoved into bags. She had to give the Equalists credit, they had been thorough in gathering her things. She wondered if that had been Amon's orders.

Wen arrived at midday to take her to lunch. "I can bring it to you here instead—" he started, but Asami was already on her way out the door.

The canteen was so clearly a Future Industries standard cafeteria that Asami felt a lurch of homesickness in spite of the bold-stroked banners proclaiming 'Equality' hanging from the ceiling.

Hiroshi Sato had shared lunch with his employees often, part of his vocal and oft-repeated commitment to remembering his own humble roots. After they lost her mother, he'd started bringing Asami along to the office, unwilling to leave her alone with nannies, and so she shared lunch with the workers too. She got to be a favorite among some of the old-timers, who would slip her extra dessert or bring her interesting bits of twisted metal from the manufacturing floor. She'd show the metal pieces to her father later, hesitantly naming what each one had been intended to be, anxious for the rare smile her display would bring.

But the oil-spotted uniforms of workers sitting elbow to elbow were replaced by the dull green of Equalists scattered about in tight groups of two or three people. Asami's nostalgia became tinted with uncertainty as Wen led her on. She earned looks from the others, standing out in her civilian maroon skirt and blazer. A conversation two young woman, themselves out of place in plain brown trousers and jackets, lowered in pitch and volume as she passed by.

She kept her head up, but it reminded her of the out-of-place feeling the Air Temple sometimes gave her. Was she ever going to feel like she _belonged_ again?

She followed Wen's lead at the serving line and sat with her tray at a table occupied by an old man. He mumbled a greeting when Wen lowered himself onto the bench opposite. He glanced at Asami as she sat next to Wen, then did a double-take. At the same moment, she recognized him. "Mr. Shan!" He had worked for Future Industries in the warehouse, close to the main factory. He also, she realized, was the man Wen had been talking to in the garage last night.

He gave a dry laugh. "Asami Sato. I didn't believe it until I saw you last night. Your dad finally brought you over to join the bad guys, eh?"

Asami was more nonplussed than offended, still trying to adjust to this familiar roughhewn face peering at her from beneath same workman's cap he'd worn a decade ago. "Ah, I…"

Shan flapped a hand at her and went back to his soup. "Nah, don't worry. Word's gone out that we're not supposed to trust you." He saw Wen looking between them and pointed his chopsticks at him. "Don't start. I've known her," the chopsticks flicked in Asami's direction, "since she was this high." Mr. Shan had been one of her erstwhile caretakers during days that she accompanied her father to work. In retrospect, it made sense that the Equalists would have recruited from within the company.

"Showed her how to drive a forklift," he went on happily.

Asami was tempted to follow his lead and settle into old stories, but she _had_ to ask. "What are you doing are you _here_?"

He cracked a grin. "Heh. A year or so ago my son started going off to meetings every other night and bringing home pamphlets." He pulled a face to show what he thought of that. "So I wanted to see this great 'Amon' for myself. So I went along with him to some big event about six months ago and saw a man in a carnival mask take down the head of the Agni Kais. For good. One man."

He held up a weathered finger, then leaned on his crossed arms. "My oldest got into a scrape with some of the Agni's lowlife goons around twelve years ago. They walked away. He didn't." His fingers drumming along one sleeve filled in the gaps. The past fell over the table like a shadow. The nature of her mother's death had never been secret, especially not from Future Industries' own employees, and Asami found herself revisiting a thousand little moments of kindness from her old friend.

"I'm sorry." There was nothing else to say. Shan's gaze was focused on the far wall, retracing something she couldn't see. Asami knew that sort of sorrow didn't fade or lessen with time. Wen bent into his meal as she pushed her soup back and forth with her spoon, circling a question. _Is that how it was for Dad?_

Shan returned to the present with a good-natured snort. "And that's how your Dad got me to start working overtime for free." He spread arms, palms up as if he were displaying the entire base as evidence. Her light little laugh was hidden by the back of her hand, and with that she was freed from her gloomy reflection. Mr. Shan rubbed his square chin and looked left and right down the unoccupied table. "So, Miss _Sa_-_to_, how'd you like to see something even better than a forklift?"

"What?" Asami raised her eyebrows and matched his conspiratorial lean in.

"A mecha tank!"

Wen spluttered into his noodles. He clunked the bowl down. "Dad, you can't show her that!"

Shan shrugged. "S'only a prototype. And it's not like they're a secret anymore." There was a shadow of dark satisfaction in his half-smile.

Asami knew he had to be referring the ambush under her father's workshop. For once, the reminder of that night didn't shake her. Nor did the knowledge that old Mr. Shan was an Equalist, not like it should have. She looked sidelong at him. The creases of his face took on an etched hardness here and there when he spoke, but eased quickly into familiar good humor again. She'd known so little about his life before, when she used to pester him until he'd let her drive a few pallets across the warehouse and back. Maybe the entirety of her childhood was going to be rewired, one person at a time, until it all lead back to the anti-bending movement.

In the absence of the usual gut reaction, a muted curiosity was stealing in. She hadn't _really_ gotten a good look at the machines in the underground factory, and she had wondered why they used treads when that would cut down on maneuverability so much...

She returned his devious smile. "I'd love to see one."

* * *

Asami looked hopefully toward the hangar when they left the building, but Shan brought her back to the garage. Like the canteen, her presence drew fleeting attention, but nobody questioned them as they ducked around figures leaning under open hoods and squeezed past the workbenches that lined the walls.

The prototype mecha tank was housed in the far back, away from the vehicles. Its rounded top half sagged forward and its arms were slack, hanging down like a defeated prizefighter. Asami looked it over, pulling apart its details, reconnecting them, asking questions the way her father had taught her to. Mako had told her they were supposed to be platinum and looking at the size of it—it was easily two, maybe three times her height—she understood why they'd used continuous tracks, even though they jutted clumsily from the base. Plain rubber tires would have a hard time holding up so much weight over so little area.

Mr. Shan hopped up on one of the treads and stretched up to rap a knuckle on a large porthole at the top.

"We found out pretty quick that the windows are the weak point. Your dad held out against reinforcing them for the longest time, because he thought driver visibility was already too low. In the end he had to add supports, but I hear he's still trying to find someone who can work up a material that won't break so easily."

"The driver sits at the top? How do they get up there?" Asami stepped onto the other tread and stood on tiptoe. Shan pulled a latch on the front, causing panels beneath the dome to split and lift.

Asami clambered inside and upward without waiting for an invitation. Behind her, Shan chuckled.

The bucket seat was surprisingly well cushioned. She noted the cross-body harness, and ran her hands over the gauges and valves before taking hold of the steering levers. She moved them around a bit, then leaned over to look out at Shan who was watching her with his hands on his hips. He laughed. "Just like a Future Industries forklift, eh?"

"Exactly like one." Asami sat back again to look around with an open smile. "A little roomier though." This—sitting at the controls of some bulky machine, Mr. Shan outside calling out comments—felt almost like coming home. An apprehension at the _purpose _of this particular machine, and each of its features, kept her from relaxing completely, but she could put that aside for a little while.

"I'd let you try driving it, but the battery's completely dead. It's mostly for spare parts now." He beckoned her. "It's all opened up in back if you want to see."

Asami took one last look and lifted herself out of the seat, balancing on the rim of the cockpit before climbing down the exterior just because she could. "Probably not as much fun as driving a racecar anyway," she sniffed. She couldn't keep her face straight and Shan rolled his eyes. Lightness burbled up through her chest, a feeling so fragile that she wanted to hug herself to hold it in.

A single wheel braced against the rear (_probably for stability, _she thought), and a short ladder was planted next to it. The mecha tank's back panel was completely removed and the internals were an orderly nest of copper tubes and pumps, edged by tight bundles of colorful wires. A few dangled, disconnected, and there were large gaps where parts had obviously been removed. Asami was already up the ladder, taking a closer look. "What kind of fluid do they use?" she asked, peering in.

"Just water," Shan said. "Petroleum's too flammable. Firebenders, y'know."

"Huh." Asami stuck her head in further to avoid thinking about Mako facing this formidable thing. Her eyes followed wires where they disappeared down the cylinders of each powerful-looking limb. Those arms looked dangerous, but it would have been fun to try them out.

"Uh-oh. Hey kid," she heard Shan. "Someone's wavin' at me, I oughta go see what they need. Don't get in any trouble, now." From the corner of her eye, she could see his drak green shirt disappearing around the front of the tank.

"No trouble, got it." Her voice bounced around with metallic resonance.

She continued exploring, and the careful calm of mechanical work soon filled the cramped space. She straddled the ladder's seat and propped her elbows on a reservoir tank to lean further in. She almost wished she _could _work on this, gather the missing parts and fix it up, figure out the systems she didn't recognize. It might be easy to operate, but the internals were definitely more complicated than any forklift would need to be.

In a way, it was an extraordinary machine. Asami's sigh misted a row of copper tubes. It was so simple to use, and could do so many things. _What a waste that it's just a weapon_. She fingered a few wires, tracing them to one of the four headlamps set in the front. The filament looked burnt out, but the tiny bulb was tinted green.

A motion told her Shan had returned. "Hey Mr. Shan, what's with the Equalists using green lights all the time?" Asami called out without turning. She tapped a fingernail on the thin glass. "Aren't they more expensive?"

"Miss Sato." A low, very _non-Shan_ drawl made her jump and her head met the hard pipes overhead, on the spot still tender from her encounter with the window yesterday. Asami hissed a curse and clutched the spot with both hands, twisting her face at the pain. She counted to three, then smoothed her expression out before withdrawing from the mecha tank's back.

Amon was standing at the base of the ladder, with the Lieutenant a little behind him. The stringy man was glaring at her and Asami put all of her aggravation into her glare back.

"_This_," Amon said with leaden weight, "is one of the areas that qualifies as _off-limits_." From her vantage point, the upturned mouth on his mask looked especially humorless.

It occurred to her how it must look for them to find their "guest" poking around in a piece of Equalist weaponry. Asami slung her leg over the ladder and climbed down to the floor with trepidation. "I…got bored. I used to visit my dad's garages all the time to look at the satomobiles."

The excuse sounded weak even to her. Amon's level gaze suggested he was equally unconvinced.

"Lieutenant, would you please locate Wen?" The Lieutenant nodded curtly and left.

"He didn't know about it!" An impulsive sense of protectiveness toward them both made Asami want to divert blame as much as possible. She piled on her grievances to distract him. "I told you I got bored! What am I supposed to do, stay in my room all day and stare at mountains?"

Her earlier pique was rising with the complaints and she capped the tirade with a resentful pout that was mostly real. "If I'm really supposed to be a prisoner here, just say so." She crossed her arms.

Amon said nothing. She could see his eyes close as he released a controlled breath—the sort of sigh her butler would give whenever Bolin asked him to do anything—and then they flicked open to pin her with a look that knifed through her half-feigned petulance.

His words were thick with warning. "We will talk about it _tomorrow_. Your father should be out of the medical ward, and I will join you _both_ in the morning."

She could practically hear the ice cracking beneath her. Asami confined her response to a simple nod.

"Good." He took Asami aback by stepping forward and circling behind her with uncanny fluidity. She flinched as his fingertips grazed the back of her head.

"You've injured yourself twice in less than a day," he observed clinically. "You may need to visit our medical center yourself."

His touch was professional, remote, but tingles ran down the back of her neck anyway. Her imagination came to life again, hinting, _maybe_ _his hand there, pulling you in _and Asami flinched away before it could become a real thought. She smoothed her hair where he'd touched it. "It's not that bad. Umm...maybe later."

"Very well." The hand fell to her shoulder with equally professional force, and he steered her toward a door in the back corner.

"Until then," he opened it with one hand and pushed her outside where the Lieutenant was approaching with Wen in tow. "You may stay in your room and look at the mountains."


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N up front: another chapter of talking heads and no exciting rating relevant activity. Also there are three OC's at this point, my only excuse is that none of the Equalists had names or personalities in canon. _

* * *

_._

* * *

_Look at the mountains, stay in your room_, Asami mimicked. She wanted to kick something. She settled for scuffing her stockinged foot on the carpet.

Wen had informed her, in a fidgeting, stop-and-start way, that she was expected to remain there for the rest of the day. He didn't have to say why.

He'd been carrying a small book behind his back as he escorted her, tapping his fingers against it with staccato speed. "You know, I'm glad you got to talk to my Dad." His breath left translucent clouds in the air. "He used to tell me all about you—uh, and he was disappointed when you went with the Avatar. So he's pretty happy now. And the Lieutenant's mad but I don't mind about the mecha tank, really."

Asami was too busy fuming to reply.

Wen stopped to open the door to the guest annex for her. "I know your father—Mr. Sato—he didn't really get you involved in Equalist stuff up 'til now. So it's all probably really strange." He ran a hand through his short hair and grimaced, following her inside. "Like chi-blockers, the mecha tanks, that kind of thing. I know I would've had trouble if I'd just been thrown right in the drink."

They reached the door to her room. Wen faced her and held up the book with ceremonial significance. "_This_ is how I got started." The binding was held together with heavy staples, and the flimsy cover was so scuffed that the typed characters, _Treatise on the Four Nations and Two Worlds, _were just barely visible. "It was actually composed just after the Hundred Year War. The author, he was inspired by the farm raids in the Earth Kingdom, after the Fire Nation's military was scaled down and these groups of former soldiers went around—"

He went on. Asami half-listened to the detailed summary while opening the door behind her.

"—and setting up extortion rackets in rural towns, supposedly the Agni Kais originated—"

"Oh…sure…" He seemed so sincere, but she _really_ didn't care for another history lecture. She began sidling into her warm room, hoping he'd get the hint.

"—discovery of bending actually put the world _out_ of balance, and the idea of the Avatar being the true connection to the spirit world is just a—a soothing myth for—"

Asami gave up. "That's great, Wen." She broke into his discourse with an appeasing smile. "But I need to…finish unpacking now." She began inching the door shut.

Wen flipped the book on its side and pushed it forward into the gap. "I just think if you read it you might understand better. He shows how we _need_ Equalism, Asami." His eyes were bright and intent, their color like a mineral lake. "Just think about it: if there were no bending the world would always be at peace."

"Ehm...thank you." Asami was forced to accept the gift. She eyed it. "Though I don't know if I'll have time to…_really _study it."

"Well, you might." Wen's enthusiasm faded. He scratched his ear and looked at the ceiling. "I mean—the Lieutenant said—" He took hold of the door's handle. "The Lieutenant said you had to stay in your room for the rest of the day. AnywayI'llseeyoulater!" He pulled the door shut over Asami's "_What?"_

Since then, she'd been stalking around the room. The book had been dropped on her bedside table.

She'd never been treated like this, not even when she was a _child, _and back then she used to get into all _sorts_ of places she wasn't allowed. But the nearest machinist (or test driver, or electrician) would always drop what they were doing and usher her with good humor back to her father or the floor manager. At worst, one might seem a little impatient, or lecture her about safety. They certainly never just shoved her out a door, or _grounded _her.

This was a lot different than anything back home, of course, but between Amon's diffident treatment and his Lieutenant's endless suspicion it felt like the police station all over again. Maybe it was retaliation because she didn't fall all over herself to worship Amon. He was probably insulted that she didn't sign up for goggles and chi-blocking lessons after his evangelism about 'non-bender medicine'.

And here she'd thought _Tarrlok _was petty. She threw herself into the armchair and plucked at a loose thread on the hem of her skirt.

_Hiroshi would never forgive me if something happened to you._ Amon had as good as admitted last night that he couldn't threaten her. This had to be his way of keeping her in line—pushing her from place to place, making sure she always knew who was in control.

The way he'd clasped her shoulder had allowed his thumb to brush her neck. Asami kneaded the spot, trying to rub away the burr that seemed to be lodged beneath her skin there.

She looked at the window and, on a sudden impulse, went to check it. It was still easy to open and she closed it again as a chill began seeping in. She ran her fingers along the sill, her temper waning. The door had stayed unlocked too—she could walk out at any time.

She used her sleeve to clear the condensation from one pane and leaned against the wall to look out the window at an angle. She could just see the corner of the garage. It wouldn't take her more than half a minute to run there, maybe a minute if she had to be sneaky. She could simply take a vehicle and leave, and just use the electrified glove on anyone who tried to stop her. Even in a boxy truck, she was pretty sure she could outmaneuver any pursuers.

There was something there, beyond the insufferable insult of _stay in your room. _Amon was _willing_ to trust her. He probably_ wanted_ to trust her, to keep Dad happy if nothing else.

Asami picked up Wen's book. The only plan she'd come up with—the only one that seemed possible—was to get her father alone as often as possible and chip away at whatever the Equalists had done to him. If she could smooth things over with Amon too, convince him that she would behave according to his standards—maybe even hint at a willingness to _think_ about the anti-bending cause—she'd earn enough freedom to accompany her father as he went about his day.

She sighed and opened the book to a random page.

* * *

It was mid-morning the next day when Wen finally came for her again. He deposited her at a small suite on the other side of the annex. The front room was decorated in vivid, contrasting colors and looked even more opulent then her own quarters. Black screens, patterned with white dragons and tiger monkeys, were set against the walls alongside a rosewood desk stacked with scrolled blueprints and papers.

The shades were drawn to let in the morning sun and her father was enjoying breakfast and reading the newspaper next to a window. He folded it as she approached and Asami glimpsed a tiny, sepia Korra on the front page. Self-conscious envy flashed through her. Korra was out in the world, involved, active. Asami was…moving from room to room.

_With a plan, _she reminded herself as Hiroshi rose to kiss her on the cheek. Amon hadn't arrived yet; she should make good use of this time.

She noticed that his waistcoat and shirt looked looser than usual. Maybe Amon was pushing him to get back to work too soon. "Are you sure you should be out of the medical center already?" she asked.

"Asami, you worry too much." He brushed aside her concern and patted her arm with an affectionate smile beneath his mustache. "_You _look paler than I do. Come now, sit. Didn't Amon mention how effective non-bender medical treatments are?"

"But you've never gotten so sick before." _Now or never. _Asami smoothed a wrinkle in the tablecloth with her finger and eased into one of her softer points of persuasion. "I just think you might be working a little too much. For the Equalists."

Hiroshi harrumphed and leaned back. "There's a lot to be done Asami." He hooked his thumbs into the gold-threaded pockets of his waistcoat. "Anyway, I hear you've been spending time with Shan's boy. Wen."

_"Spending time_ isn't exactly how I'd put it." Asami made a face. "He's my handler."

He gave a chuckle. "I told Amon you wouldn't like that. It's just for now sweetie, while you're still new." Her point about work had gone completely unnoticed. In fact, he'd swung the conversation out from under her completely. Asami wavered between irritation and bewilderment. He was acting as if everything was normal, as if _this _was normal, as if he thought their old lives and habits were just a couple of roles that could be re-assumed. He couldn't possibly think this was really alright, sharing morning tea and chats in the middle of a terrorist compound, could he?

He removed his spectacles and cleaned them with a white napkin between his thumb and forefinger. "I heard about the prototype, too." She could hear the pleased amusement in his voice. "So, what did you think?"

Asami had all but forgotten about it once Amon threw her out of the garage. She twisted a porcelain cup back and forth. _Pretend. Get time with him. Don't make trouble._

"It was...it was really interesting. I can't believe they only use steam."

He readjusted the spectacles over his nose. "Yes, it has its good points but it's not perfect. I've tried to correct some of the flaws in the newest model. We actually—well, you didn't hear it from me, but we actually have a group of them here in the hangar."

Asami supposed that answered the question of _what_ they were using that enormous space for. She tried to beam as if that were exciting news. "Wow, that would be great to see. With you, I mean."

"I'm going to talk to Amon about it, there's really no _reason_ to keep you out of there. It'll all be public soon enough." He refilled his cup with tea and passed the pot to Asami, going on before she could think of what he meant. "You'll really like some of the innovations in these ones. We've used technology that's very new, just came out of the Fire Nation. There's a magnet." His voice wound with suspense and he spread his arms as if holding a gigantic disc. "It's about half again as wide as this, thirty centimeters thick. Detachable, bolts right on the end of the arm. Turn it on and whap!" He clapped his hands together gleefully. "Metalbenders stick to it like bumble flies on a strip strip." He chuckled at his joke.

Asami stared, still holding the teapot. He noticed her expression before she could say anything. "Asami, what is it? You're not really getting sick, are you?"

"That…that's _awful_, Dad."

His cheery expression decayed into furrowing lines, his eyebrows arcing down behind round lenses. Asami recognized the warning signs, but she couldn't—this was beyond the pale, it was too much to just let go. "How can you make something like that? How can you be _doing_ this for them?" She thumped the pot down. Her voice rose. "Don't you see that Amon's just using you? He ruined your life, you're a _criminal _now, Dad. Future Industries is _dying_—"

"That's _enough!_" Hiroshi slapped the table in a sharp note of jumping dishware. Asami stopped, aghast. In the silence, he glanced down and saw his tea had sloshed over. "Bah!" She twitched at the exclamation.

He lifted the cup with two thick fingers around the rim, shaking his head. "I've always wondered if I should have started teaching you sooner." His voice took on a lacerating edge. "Or at least kept you from making _friends_ with _benders_."

He jerked the napkin over to blot the tablecloth beneath the cup. Asami kept her hands in her lap, clutching her skirt. She'd dressed nicely today, following her instinct that an soft, pleasing appearance would make this easier.

He looked at her over his glasses and sighed. "You were so young when it happened."

She shoved her chair back and stood. "I'm done eating. I have to go back to my room." He called her name with rough exasperation as she strode to the door. "Asami—"

Wen was nowhere to be found. The hallways on this side of the building were as poorly illuminated as the rest. Asami blinked away a few stricken tears and glared at some distant point on the unpolished floor. Her first attempt to just _talk _to him and it had gone so badly. More than badly, it was a disaster. She wrapped her arms around herself. _How could he be like that, be so happy to be hurting people? _

But things had been good up to that moment and doubt spread in a fog as murky as the hall. She had to be talking to him wrong, doing something wrong, she should have been prepared for this. He'd invented the mecha tanks and electrified gloves, of course he'd be proud of them. How could _she_ have been so stupid, why couldn't she just have kept her mouth shut?

She was already regretting leaving—she could have just stayed, calmed him down and tried again—but her feet kept on taking her away from the suite. She rounded a corner, and nearly collided with Amon.

She tried to push past him but he sidestepped smoothly and blocked her path. "Miss Sato. You should be with your father."

He was just tall enough that she couldn't see past his shoulders. "I'm finished," she snapped. "Don't worry, I'm just going to my room." She feinted left before darting to the right and around him; a slightly childish maneuver, but she couldn't stand go back, especially not with _him_.

Amon caught her arm. "No." There was a touch of tightness in his voice. "We need to talk to Hiroshi about keeping you occupied. And out of trouble."

"Don't _touch _me." Asami twisted away from his abrupt closeness as much as the hold. His fingers went rigid for the briefest moment before opening. She backed away.

He was giving her his full attention now, that acute, overwhelming focus. It felt particularly foreboding in the gloomy half-light. _Amon the leader. _

Asami crossed her arms and drew herself up. Everything in Wen's dense, abstract little book—it was just thin paper, just _words_. It was Amon that the Equalists really followed, that her father was following. Dad had never shouted at her like that before. He had never been so ill, or attacked her friends, or built weapons and laughed about it. It all came back to Amon, his influence. Her anger focused, finding its target. He could have been snaking into her father's head for _decades_, _twisting_ him…

"The terms of your stay were settled yesterday." His eyes had narrowed behind the mask.

Last night's epiphany came to mind—_win Amon's trust_. Asami shoved it away as pointless compared to the sudden, seething imperative of_ I hate you. _"I don't care about any terms, I don't care about your secrets or anything on this whole base!" she hissed. She reached for more arrowed insults, anything to make an impact. "This whole revolution is going to _fail_, you're just a—a liar and a cult leader, you've turned my dad into some kind of fanatic and taken everything from us—he was never like this before—"

"Like what?" Amon interrupted. His commanding attitude had eased and he seemed to be listening with mild interest.

She was reopening her own wounds, but she'd gone too far to back out now. "He wants to hurt people, he hates benders now! You made him like that, you manipulated him and he's—" her voice broke and the fight died from her words. "You're awful. The Equalists are awful. And you made my father cruel and hateful—"

"No." The precise, definite syllable was enough to make her stop. He didn't seem the least bit offended by her tirade and there was a note of pity in his voice as he went on. "You may choose to believe otherwise, but Hiroshi was deeply angry long before he joined the Equalist movement." He looked away from her, delicately adjusting a leather guard over one forearm. "He never recovered from his wife's murder. He'd been dwelling on it for years and when he found us, he _offered _his services."

"I think I would've known—" _I think I would've noticed if there were a factory underneath my house. _She'd been brimming over with resentment when she said that, furious that the police were so ready to persecute her family like that. And then...

_Maybe you don't know everything about your father_. There'd been a moment when she'd hated Korra for saying it, for being the catalyst of her father's downfall, the outsider who needed only a day to uncover the truth that had been hidden to Asami for years.

The hallway felt stuffy and narrow. Asami was left churning with bitterness. "You still accepted his help. You encouraged him."

"I am leading a revolution, Miss Sato, not an Air Temple." Amon finished fixing his armor. "Our brothers and sisters come to us through many paths and many motivations." He started forward and Asami swiveled out of his way, backing against the wall as he passed. He stopped to look down the hall that led to her father's suite. "For a time, working for the Equalists seemed to bring him peace. Recently…" The white sliver of his mask in profile looked like the face of a statue, but she heard his faint sigh. "I had hoped you might be a stabilizing presence, but I see that's not the case."

Dismay crept in. "What do you mean?"

He turned back to her. "You've been arguing with Hiroshi. It's only going to agitate him further."

He said _agitate,_ and Asami heard _stress._ _Sickness of the_ _heart_, his skin pale and sweating, the hospital bed. She was trying to save her father, and Amon was telling her she was close to killing him.

"I didn't mean to start a fight." She said it half to herself in a small voice. "He asked me about the prototype I was looking at yesterday and then he told me about the newest mecha tanks. The magnets, how he wants to use them against metalbenders." She stopped and lifted her hands in a helpless gesture, looking at Amon. "I don't—I didn't want to upset him but what was I supposed to do, applaud? We used to talk about how to make Satomobiles faster, and now…I'm _not _an Equalist."

She paused. Amon was regarding her with that intent focus again. "No, you aren't." He seemed at ease, but Asami realized she might have just talked her way into long-term confinement. "Does your father usually tell you about his projects?" He turned away again and folded his arms behind his back, as if he were a professor awaiting a student's answer.

If she started running _now…_"Y-yeess…" Asami drew out the answer. She took a slow step backward, carefully setting her heel on the hard flooring to avoid making noise.

He seemed to hear her anyway, looking over his shoulder. "Hiroshi has told me he wants you to help him with his work."

"I'm not going to—"

"But you could. He's taught you enough."

"Yes, for the _company._ I don't care if he wants me to—I thought you didn't want me to _do_ anything like that, anyway. I'm supposed to stay in my room." She felt unexpectedly petulant and off-balance again. She had no idea where he was going with this.

"I might reconsider. I will have to talk to your father. For now…is there any other activity that you might find entertaining?"

_Ah. _Her jittery concern ceased as she realized there was only one explanation for Amon's reversal. _Back to trying to please Dad_. That or keep her 'out of trouble'. _Activity _though…Asami pushed her hair out of her face. What was she going to do here, go sledding?

She thought of the newspaper in her father's suite. "I miss the news. I'd like to get the paper," she said. She folded her arms, ready for rejection, hoping a little that she might have a reason to start another fight. "Morning _and_ evening edition."

Amon nodded once. "I'll see to it."

Wen appeared at the other end of the hall. "Hey Asam—" he noticed Amon. "Uh, am I late? I'm sorry sir—"

"It's fine," Amon held up a hand and focused on her again. "Unless you'd like to join me with your father?" Asami shook her head. "Then please see Miss Sato back to her room."

Wen had brought pamphlets for her this time. "They're a lot shorter, in case the _Treatise_ is too much."

Stuck in the room again, Asami shuffled through them. She ignored anything with a title over six words and found one labeled DEFENSE AGAINST BENDING STYLES. She dropped the others next to Wen's book and dragged the cushion back to her low table to drink tea while skimming it.

The glossy booklet summarized a short history of chi-blocking, and in short paragraphs went over the tactics for each bending style, the best points to target first depending on which element you were facing. She covered the labeled chi points with her thumb and tried to guess their names. Maybe she should have asked Amon if she could take chi-blocking lessons. _At least __Dad_ _would be happy about that.  
_

* * *

Morning inched into afternoon. She'd gone back to thinking through the points to make with her father—now that she knew direct challenges were really, definitely out—when a knock came. Asami stuffed her notes beneath the seat of the armchair and answered the door.

Maya shouldered in. "Hiya."

She wore an ordinary brown shirt, the jacket of her uniform folded down and tied around her wait. Her dark brown hair was messy and falling just past her shoulders. She could have passed for an off-duty dockworker.

She took a long look around the room and whistled. "Nice. I guess being Sato's daughter has its perks." As she turned, Asami saw a tabletop radio tucked under her arm. She looked Asami up and down. "You're looking better too. You were a little peaked last time I saw you."

Asami ignored that. She nodded at the radio. "Is that for me?"

"Yep," Maya crossed to the bedside table and slid the radio onto it. She leaned on her forearm over the rounded top and grinned like a dragon, raising her eyebrows. "_Compliments_ of Amon."

"I don't know what you're talking about." She really didn't, all she'd asked for was a newspaper.

"Oh sure, sure." Maya examined the radio, fiddling with the dials and dustingone corner daintily. "He gives us _allll _radios. And moon cakes, and baskets of flowers every day." She looked up at Asami with another grin. "Are you blushing? That's adorable."

She _could _feel her skin warming and this was ridiculous, they weren't _fourteen._ "I am NOT—"

"Oh re-lax, I'm just teasing." Maya started searching behind the nightstand. "Where's the outlet over here, I wanna see if it works. The guy said it was special model, extra sensitive to pick up the signal way out here."

Asami thought she might prefer Wen's book to this teasing. She sat on the bed and drew her legs up as Maya crawled underneath it. "How far _are _we from the city?"

Maya's voice came from below her. "I dunno, maybe thirty miles?" She emerged and hunted along the wall until she reached the armchair. "Got it!"

She returned to the radio and unwound a thin cord from the back. "Anyway, you don't need to be embarrassed, you're not alone. Amon wouldn't be leading us all around if he didn't have _something _going for him, right?"

Asami was not amused. "He gave me the radio." She dropped each word carefully into place. "Because I'm 'Sato's daughter'. Like you said."

"Oh well, _that's _a lot better." Maya rolled her eyes and switched the radio on before Asami could ask what she meant. She spun the tuner until hissing and squeals faded into a familiar newscast patter.

_…curfew for non-benders passed this morning. Hold on folks, it looks like the press conference is getting underway—_

Councilman Tarrlok's voice poured out. _Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman. In order the combat the Equalist threat, the Council has passed a special resolution requiring that all non-benders stay in their homes after dark._

Asami scooted forward to listen. Maya put a hand on her hip and leaned on the radio again, her face drawing into a glower directed at the speaker.

_…for their own safety as well, due to potential backlash against them. In addition, the Anti-Equalist Task Force will begin regular patrols tonight. Anyone found breaking the curfew will be treated as a suspected Equalist. _

A din rose when he finished. _We will not be taking questions. Thank you. _The newscaster returned. _That was Councilman Tarrlok, announcing the new non-bender curfew which goes into effect tonight. Now for the music hour. _Asami turned the volume down as a sprightly version of "Long Way to Ba Sing Se" began playing.

"Well," Maya said. "Guess the radio works." She flopped into the armchair and fished a loop of string out of her pocket. "Shit."

Asami stayed perched on the bed, staring at the radio. _That curfew would mean Dad. It would mean me. _He always stayed late at the office, and she used to go out after sunset all the time. It was…well it was unfair. It was _outrageous_. How could the Council pass something so biased, how could _Tenzin_ let it happen?

Maya was pulling her hair back, talking around the string in her mouth. "You know, I used to get around a lot, and I've seen plenty bad situations—the world is pretty awful, take it from me—but Republic City is something else. I mean, Ba Sing Se is creepy and there's tons of crappy poor farming towns, but here…" She pulled the string out and frowned as she tied up her hair. "You don't have money, you don't have anything. The triads can do anything they want to anyone. And the worst part is, no one in charge _cares._ They just let it happen."

It sounded like usual Equalist diatribe to Asami, and she wanted to disagree but she didn't know where to start. There were people like Tenzin, like Chief Beifong—Lin Beifong wasn't nice, but Asami knew she _cared_. "There's the police. They're always arresting triad members."

"Tch. The cops arrest the ones who are too dumb to get off the street when the cables start flying. Every now and then they make a big catch, but then it's fifty-fifty the guy gets off scot free after the trial, or just keep running things from behind bars." Maya tugged the ponytail tight and coiled it into a bun. "Everyone just cowers down and hopes the next council member will fix things." Her face pinched with scorn. "Or the Avatar. But that's not gonna happen unless the Triple Threats start a probending team." She pointed a thumb at her chest. "The Equalists are the only one actually doing something, and standing up for the people without any power. And what does the Council do? It turns around and makes like non-benders are the bad guys. I'll bet you anything Tarrlok is taking bribes from the Triads on the side."

Asami traced a pattern on the coverlet. She agreed about Tarrlok, but..._Korra only got here a few months ago. She's still learning. _But she wasn't about to share that fact if the Equalists didn't know it already.

Maya untied the sleeves of her jacket and shrugged it over her shoulders. "Amon, now…" Her contemptuous attitude softened. "He _understands, _even if he's not from around here, he knows what it's like. And that thing about the spirits—once you see him take someone's bending you can really believe it. He's going make the city into something better. He's meant to."

The corner of her mouth lifted as she did up the buttons on the jacket. "Of course, that voice and body don't hurt either, am I right?"

Asami put every ounce of her upbringing into showing haughty indifference to the suggestion, but Maya just smirked. "No? Then it's the air of mystery, right?" She stood and gave Asami an exaggerated once-over, stroking her chin. "Yeah, yeah. I can see what they're saying. The heiress and the Equalist. Sounds like a romance novel."

"That's not funny." _What _who's_ saying?_

"Yes it is." Maya caught the balled-up pamphlet Asami threw and lobbed it back at her. "Ha! You're too easy."

She clapped Asami's shoulder and jogged to the door. "After that news, odds are I'm going to be on _Anti_-Anti-Equalist Task Force patrol tonight. Wish me luck." She winked and slipped out the door.

The room's emptiness seemed to expand in her wake. Asami turned the volume on the radio up and locked the door, then leaned against it morosely. She'd been here two days now and the only things she'd managed to do was fight with her father and apparently start a rumor about her and Amon.

The daylight was reducing to an orange glow lining the mountains, dissolving upward into dusk. _And the curfew_…why did the city have to keep making things worse? Amidst all the teasing, Maya had been getting ready to go out and _fight _the task force over it. There was no doubt the movement was escalating. She was surrounded by rising waters, and standing still.

She gathered up Wen's book and pamphlets and dumped them into a drawer. _Tomorrow_. No matter what the alternative was waiting for her back in Republic City. If she didn't make some kind of progress with her father by tomorrow, she would have to leave the Equalists.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Heads up for anyone just reading for Asami, some actual Amon/Asami romance in this chapter. Apologies for any wince-inducing writing.  
_

_The whole chapter was written prior to 2.06 airing last Friday, so any parallels that can be drawn are annoyingly coincidental. At least I can say this story has gotten some things about Asami right. _

* * *

_._

* * *

Music threaded into her half-woken dream: the gala_, a chanson playing in the background_ as Amon introduces her to _Hiroshi Sato and Avatar Korra,_ Asami trying to say _but I know them already_. Councilman Tarrlok joins them and the chanson breaks off as he tells her, _we interrupt your regularly scheduled broadcast to bring you this special report: late last night, Equalists attacked City Hall_

A muzzy sense that this was important reached her before full consciousness did. Asami lifted her head from the pillow as the dream fragmented and dissolved.

_subduing Councilman Tarrlok and capturing Avatar Korra. Details are still coming in, but so far it is unknown where she is being held or what their intentions might be._

A moment passed as it sank in. _They. The Equalists. Captured Korra. _And then Asami was stumbling out of bed, dragging half the blankets with her.

Black spotted her vision and she leaned against the bedside table for balance while scrubbing the sleep from her eyes. The report switched to a statement from Chief Saikhan.

Asami listened, alert and paralyzed. She'd been more right than she knew about things escalating. Saikhan faded as her thoughts passed from alarm to outrage, reproach and dread.

All the while she wondered if there was something she could have done. Had that been what Maya was leaving for last night? Had she said anything that Asami had missed?

She sat on the carpet and hugged her knees to her chest, bare arms wrapping around bare legs. She couldn't take much more of this, the blur of _bender oppression_ and _Triads_ turning into _mecha tanks_ and now _kidnappings_, the tilting of perspective one way and then the other every day, every hour. It felt like years had passed since she'd stood at her father's bedside and thought she understood for once how he could be so angry. And it felt like centuries has passed since he'd offered her the glove and asked her to join and she'd known without a doubt that the Equalists were wrong, wrong, wrong.

_They've kidnapped Korra, they broke into City Hall and took the Avatar_. There was no angle at which that could be turned to make it right. Asami stared at her feet unhappily. She couldn't blame herself for it, though. Maybe it was retaliation for the non-bender curfew, maybe it was all part of Amon's plan.

She was getting goosebumps sitting down here. Asami unfolded and rose to stand again. What mattered was what she was going to do now. She shoveled the blankets back onto the bed and set into her morning routine with mechanical calm. A quick look outside showed faint stars still visible in the sky. It much earlier than she usually woke, which gave her some time. But Wen would be here soon enough, and there was no telling who else was up and about on the base at this hour.

Ideas kept turning over and over.

_Take a hostage, _as she showered. The only person here who'd be important enough was Hiroshi Sato. Asami assured herself that she could and _would_ use the electrified glove on him again. But if he refused to go along with whatever threat she made—which, knowing him, he probably would—she would be out of luck. She wouldn't be able to move his unconscious bulk by herself.

_Sabotage then, _as she opened the lid of her makeup box, surveyed the paints and creams and powder, and decided to save time by skipping them. She could break into the hangar, take a mecha tank, use it smash the others. But at some point she'd be caught, and then what? The Equalists would still have their gloves and their airships and the Avatar.

_Spy_. Asami sighed and swept her hair over one shoulder before buttoning her dark jacket over it. She almost had trust, or something close to it here, but no one was going to accidentally let slip Korra's whereabouts while she was around.

She was already picking through her trunks for a bag when she finally accepted the only realistic course of action, unchanged from last night. _Leave. _

A green-dyed leather purse from a trip to Ba Sing Se seemed roomy enough. She stuffed it with another set of clothes and a few personal items, and tucked the handful of yuans she had left into a side pocket. The electrified glove went on top, its padded cloth cuff oriented so that she could slip her hand in it at a moment's notice.

Asami laced her boots over the trousers and slung the bag over one shoulder. She faced the door. _Don't think about it. Concentrate on getting away._

The radio was still playing behind her, the programming returned to tinkly morning music. She backed up and switched it off. The room already felt abandoned. _Concentrate on getting away_ and leaving her father without without so much as a word, without reaching out to him one last time.

Asami covered her forehead with a resigned hand and scrunched her face beneath it. She'd come so far to help him and if Amon was right, it was more than his physical health at stake now. She _had _to try again. One little fight shouldn't make her give up so easily. She could still make him understand how important it was that he leave with her.

She had to fix that thought against an onrushing instinct pushing her to _get going and get out now._

* * *

The airfield was wreathed in thin frosted mist, devoid of any signs of life. Asami anchored the bag against her hip and darted out the front door, heading in a straight line to the rear of the garage.

There'd been no answer at her father's suite. He'd always been the type to start the day early, well before everyone else. It had been a rare source of strife between them in the last few years—Asami would emerge from her room near midday in dressing gown and matted hair, and wander straight into his brisk, spruced disapproval, and then they'd have Words.

From his suite she'd followed a chain of hopeful logic: if he wasn't there, then he was working. If the airfield was like a standard Future Industries compound, then his office would be above the main production floor. The production floor would have to be in the largest building. And that would be the hangar.

Asami slid along the wall to the end of the garage and scanned the towering square building. The vast front panel was closed, but a normal door in the back looked to be propped open.

She gave herself no time to think, launching herself at it. Each footfall against the snow-rimmed gravel raised a grinding sound that seemed to echo through the still air. But there were no shouts, no chases and she skidded to a stop with a burst of exhilaration. She squeezed behind the door and caught her breath while peering through the crack.

All she could see was a bare wall—_the back hallway_—and no voices or sounds of movement inside. Asami counted on her luck holding out and wheeled around the door. She turned left, _where the stairwell_ _always is_—and there it was. Asami took the steps two at a time, bounding up two long flights to reach the next floor.

The second floor was unfinished, the hall unpainted and the floor scrubbed concrete. Gaps in the ceiling tiles exposed pipes and insulation. A token poster of Amon, posing before rays of red and yellow, was tacked up near the stairwell.

Asami jogged down the hall, counting_. One…two…third door_ on the left. A handwritten sign was taped in place of the usual etched nameplate reading _Hiroshi Sato_. She rapped a knuckle against the wood before she could reconsider. "Dad?"

Nothing. Asami stood back, tapping her cheek. Could she risk looking all over the base to find him? If anyone caught her, could she pretend to have permission to be out alone?

She spared a thought for Wen—how much trouble would he be in once she vanished? _He's an Equalist, you don't care. _But Asami couldn't quite include him in her idea of the faceless group that attacked City Hall last night. Aside from the fact that Korra could probably flatten him with a single punch, Wen seemed more likely to start reciting passages from his book than to fight.

Thinking of Wen brought to mind Mr. Shan. And there was Maya, though she probably _would _have been part of the kidnapping. But Maya really believed that they were doing the right thing…

Asami forced aside the distraction, she simply did not have time or space to be concerned about these people. She tried the door handle, and made a face when she found it unlocked. Once again the most reasonable next step presented itself. _Waiting. _There were a few hours yet before anyone would need to check her room, and her father was bound to return here at some point.

She knew what the office would look like before she'd opened the door: large, with little furniture—Hiroshi liked room to pace while thinking—maybe a plain table and a few chairs, telephone, filing cabinets, drafting board. Diagrams and blueprints taking up three of the walls, the fourth all windows, angled sharply outward to overlook the floor and its workers. Asami used dare herself by leaning on those windows, seeing how long she could stand to be suspended above the humming machinery below. Usually she could hold out until her father noticed and told her to get away from them.

She thought of the things she could say to make him come with her. He might not care that it was the Avatar they kidnapped, but—if Mom's death was what motivated him more than anything, he'd have to see the similarities in the recent attack. She'd _make_ him see it.

As always, her mind skated past her own remnant impressions of that night. What little she'd heard from under her bed.

The enormous steel-shaded lights over the production floor were off, leaving the view from the glass wall dark but for the glow of white lamps along the pillars. Asami crossed to the desk, meaning to see if there was any useful information to be found before her father returned. Something caught the corner of her vision, and she swung by the windows on her way over to get a closer look.

They covered the production floor like grey-winged insects, a multitude. Later she would realize that there couldn't have been more than twenty. "Airplanes?"

Asami sank down, bracing herself with hands on the glass. "Of course." A spot turned opaque under her breath, and cleared. _Airfield, Asami, you knew that_. But she hadn't thought things had gone this far, that he was really _building_ _airplanes_ here. The revelation chattered through her. This changed things, they had airplanes, she needed to think of something to do, someone to warn...

Asami stayed where she was, staring down. The biplanes all faced the hangar door, perched on three wheels, blunt noses tilted up. Each boxy wing was painted with "Equality" where the Future Industries logo should be. Steel kites structured around sleek bodies. They were beautiful. He'd done it, he'd made personal aircraft and he'd done it for the _Equalists._

She saw movement reflected in the glass just as someone rasped, "What are you doing in here?"

Asami sprang to her feet and whirled around to face the Lieutenant. He stood in the doorway, arms akimbo. A tight grey hood and googles framed his scowl and Asami, for the first time, recognized him as the other Equalist she'd taken down in the underground factory. No wonder he hated her so much.

"I'm—" Her eyes raced around the room as she tried to come up with a worthwhile excuse, but all that came was _bip__lanes, now I know about them and he knows I know. _"I—"

"Where's Wen?" He began striding toward her. "Amon isn't going to like this."

_He's someone else who matters to Amon. _It floated up like the fragment of a song. From what she'd heard, the Lieutenant acted as Amon's second-in-command, he led teams in the field and conveyed orders from the top. He was _important_. And, he was skinny. Asami backed away along the window as he advanced. She could drag him downstairs by herself, there had to be at least one truck or van somewhere in here. She'd beaten him once before, this could work. She tried to look frightened, letting him get closer—_deliver him to the police and they'll have a real bargaining chip_—and slipping her hand beneath the green flap.

His eyes flicked down at the motion. "What are you—"

Asami jammed her hand into the glove and wrested it free as he leaped toward her, the rods on his back now in his hands and sparking. The desk was closer than she thought and she clipped it dodging him, forcing her to duck clumsily beneath his first stab. White-blue seared the edge of her sight.

She'd just managed to wrap copper fingers around his knee when her back lit in rippling agony. Muscles seized and the pain spread, going on and on until darkness finally switched it off.

* * *

She registered with indifferent offense that she was being carried slung over one shoulder like some kind of carpet. She tried to tell him _I could've hauled you around too, you know_, but her diaphragm was compressed against a bony shoulderblade and nothing came out. An awful nausea spun through her, and she let the world slip away again.

Waking up the second time was worse. A deep ache in her shoulders brought her around, and when she tried to move her arms she found her wrists were bound together behind her back. Her first annoyed thought was that it seemed like overkill, especially once she noticed her ankles were similarly tied. She was lying on her side. A variety of pains twinkled throughout—a cutting pressure in her wrists where the ties cut in, sharp points in her scalp from debris on the unswept floor, a sullen burn through her lower and middle back. Hardest to ignore were the shrill streaks down her shoulders and arms.

Sitting up was an ordeal and once Asami looked around and saw the stony walls, the grim dense bars, her detachment fell apart. She was in a _jail, _she was _tied up_. She'd tried to fight the Lieutenant and been electrocuted. The memory of that sensation rolled up and over her, making her retch. When it subsided she heaved a few shuddering breaths through her teeth. Her eyes were watering, plastering strands of hair to her face.

Finally she twisted onto her knees and inched up to the bars. The cell turned out to be one of eight, facing each other in rows of four that led down to double doors. A bare electric bulb in the center of the ceiling was the only object to break up the monotony of concrete and dark iron. Its weak light was drowned out by high afternoon sun, shining through a single square window above the doors.

She must have been laying there for hours. No wonder everything hurt. "Hello?" It barely even echoed. Not that she really expected they—or he—would lock her up with someone else. Like maybe with Korra. Not that she'd expected her father to be here, to care that she was here.

Her sudden tears caught her by surprise. Asami muffled the weak sobs that followed against her knees.

Her wretchedness didn't last long. A sense of purpose returned at the physical pains diminished somewhat. Asami tried the bars first, jamming both feet against them as best she could. All she accomplished was making a racket.

She struggled around the cell's perimeter in a cursory, hopeless search. It was barely larger than a closet and had nothing in it aside from her. She told herself it was obviously was meant for short term confinement. _Or maybe the Lieutenant won't tell anyone you're here._ Maybe they _meant_ to leave her alone, planned on starving her until she'd finally be obedient. Or dead.

Asami put the ugly thoughts out of her mind and concentrated on stretching her limbs as much as possible. After a while, she took to marking the passage of time by watching the sun's progress across the floor. It crept up to, then over, the pitted lines between each joined slab. She fell into a doze.

When she startled awake, the light was a lambent gold climbing the far wall. An insubstantial fear gathered in the pit of her stomach. They _had_ to come for her at some point right?

By her estimate it was early evening—the bulb's harsh luminescence had taken over, casting ragged, sickly shadows over everything—when she heard the creak of a door, and a hushed "Asami?" He cast a distorted shadow along the floor. Asami watched it grow shorter and shorter, and then her father appeared in front of her cell.

"Dad!" She nearly said, _Daddy._

He looked concerned, but was otherwise tidy and unruffled in a short utilitarian brown jacket. "Asami. The Lieutenant told me what happened. You were in my office?"

"Yes but I was just waiting, I just wanted to see you…"

"He said you tried to attack him with one of our gloves. And that you had a packed overnight bag with you."

Her relief wavered, mirage-like and she started babbling. "I was—the Equalists are getting to be too dangerous, and the kidnapping—I wanted to see if you'd come with me…and…"

Hiroshi sighed and reached in his jacket, bringing out a keyring. Asami listened to the jangles and creaks as he unlocked and opened the door. He entered and knelt down to untie the cord around her ankles. Finally he spoke. "You're still having these foolish ideas?" He helped her to her feet, but blocked her exit from the cell itself, standing in front of the door. Asami's heart began thumping in an odd way. She was acutely aware of the disarray of her hair, the salted tear tracks on her cheeks. Her hands were still tied.

He looked at her over the top of his spectacles. "Now Asami. I know this has all been hard for you, and I know how much it hurt you when I left. But I've continued to believe that one day you'd come to your senses and join us." His jacket had thick koala sheepskin collar, and a Future Industries patch sewn over the left breast. A set of racecar goggles was hanging from his neck. But there weren't any cars up here.

Asami half closed her eyes until her lashes covered her view. She dug the words out like splinters. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble. I won't do it again."

Hiroshi considered, then stood aside from the doorway. "Good." He took her elbow and turned her around as she stepped free of the cell. "Let me get your wrists."

Asami stared at the bars as he pulled at the cord. She had him alone again, this was her chance.

"Dad?" she asked as the loops around her wrists loosened. She meant to say something like, _did you know about the kidnapping_, but instead—"Why didn't you come for me sooner?" The last of the cord fell away and she turned to face him, rubbing her arms to soothe them.

"I left base early this morning to test some new machines. I didn't get back until a few hours ago." He stepped back, sticking his hands in his pockets with a benign air. "Now why don't we get you back to your room to clean up, and then you and I can have supper together."

Asami couldn't meet his eyes. She looked at the goggles again. "So," she said slowly, testing the words as if walking on a balance beam. "Was it the airplanes you were testing?"

He responded by putting a companionable arm around her back—Asami winced as he inadvertently grazed one of her burns—and starting to walk her to the door. "Ah ha, you saw them? What a shame, I wanted to surprise you myself. What did you think? We've been training the pilots up here at night, but this the first time it's been overcast enough for us to test them during the day, They're amazingly simple to operate, and I know I can talk them into letting me give you lessons too."

_Are you insane?_ She choked down the first answer that came to mind, and started dragging her feet. Finally, she found her voice again. "I think…I was wondering what…do you think Mom would think about all this?"

"What was that?" Hiroshi asked absently.

Something hardened in her chest, stonelike. Asami stopped altogether. "Mom. What would Mom think?" She stepped away from him, her feet scuffing the cement. "She would _hate _this."

His puzzled frown deepened, and she could feel a repeat of yesterday's scene coming on. "Asami, what are you saying?" The greenish lighting made everything look flat, cut out, like the underground factory. _They took away your mother,_ he'd told her back then. _They ruined the world._

"You said you're doing this for her, because they killed her, but—she would never want any of this." She said it as neutrally as possible.

The look he turned on her was livid anyway. "How. Dare you." His voice had a rattled hiss, like a pot boiling over and spilling onto a hot burner. "Bringing your _mother _into this—" Shadows clung to him like cobwebs, warping his dark expression even further. Asami saw the stark truth unfolding in it. It didn't matter what she said, it didn't matter how she said it. She'd been wrong all along. There'd never been any chance to save him.

She balled her fists. "How dare _you_!" Her shout sounded eerily flat, absorbed by the walls and darkness around them. "You want us to be a family but you don't even care. You don't feel love for Mom anymore, you can't. You're too full of hate."

He lunged forward with a bellow. "You ungrateful child!" Asami recoiled from the sudden scoring rage, her hands going up in automatic defense. Confusion made her slow and he was able to grab her wrist. His fingers dug into the dents left by the cords. "After _everything_ I've done for you!" White flecks flew with each shout.

Her thoughts were scattering in near panic. She hadn't expected _this_—should she have expected this? Was it her fault, did she drive him over the edge?

"I see it was a mistake to let you out." Hiroshi pivoted with a jerk on her arm. He wasn't strong but his weight was enough to make her stumble forward.

He was trying to take her back to the cell, and Asami's desperation spiraled out of control. But she knew three different ways to escape a hold like this_. _She dug her heels in. He turned with a ferocious glower and she prepared to swing under his arm like she'd been taught, pull it back…

A hand shot past her to grab his forearm. "That's enough, Hiroshi." The presence smothered the vehemence in their struggle like a wave washing over sand. Hiroshi released Asami's wrist. She jumped away, fighting the urge to make a break for the door.

"What's going on here?" Amon's coat was rendered flat grey in the severe light, the eyes of his mask impenetrably dark.

"Asami wants to leave," Hiroshi grated. He was as unrecognizable as he'd been when she'd first seen him ill, a lather of twisted lines and mottled skin. Only now he was awake, and glaring at her with savage fury. "She's been _nothing_ but insubordinate since she came here, and now she's trying to turn me against you—"

Asami wilted under his accusing finger, wanting to sink into the wall, disappear. She wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the floor with bleary, unfocused vision.

Amon dropped his arm. "We've discussed this, Hiroshi. I sent you to let Miss Sato _out._"

"You didn't _hear_ her, Amon." His rage seemed to rekindle. "She is a traitor!" He moved to grab for her again with a snarl. "You _disgraceful, disappointing_—"

"She is your _child_." His voice lost none of its usual calm, but there was a visceral force behind it. Hiroshi stopped and Asami looked up, blinking. Amon had stepped between them, his broad back blocking most of her view. His voice seemed to vibrate around her. "Leave it."

Hiroshi shuffled back one step. He ran a hand over his hair, pulled his jacket down and stood taller. "If you say so."

Amon half turned toward Asami. "I need to speak with you." She still couldn't see his eyes, just the motionless mask in profile. She nodded dumbly, trying to pinpoint how it was that Amon was suddenly on _her_ side. By all logic he should be helping her father haul her back to the cell.

He turned back to Hiroshi. "There's still a lot of work to be done."

Her father bowed slightly. "Of course." He shot one last glare at Asami. The calcified feeling in her chest was gone and the venomous look lanced through her. She lowered her eyes and flattened one shaking hand beneath her collarbone.

"We'll meet in my quarters. I don't want any disturbances," Amon said. Asami dropped her hand and followed him in silence.

* * *

Night was falling fast, the mountains black against a sky clouded over with the promise of more snow. Insistent shivers replaced her trembling adrenaline from the fight. Asami idly weighed the possibility of running away on foot against the likelihood of freezing to death before she reached the city.

"I'm sorry about your father." Amon spoke without turning.

"It's not your fault." Asami pulled the rest of her hair from her collar and rubbed her face. She wasn't sure what made her say that. "Or maybe it is, I don't know."

They'd reached the heavy double doors guarding the entrance to the guest annex. Amon paused, one hand on the bent metal handle, and shook his head once before pulling the door open. "No. As I told you, Hiroshi was angry when we met and he sought us out. Helping the Equalists seemed to bring him a kind of peace for a time." They passed through the darkened lobby side-by-side. "But his interest in the anti-bending movement is becoming misdirected," Amon went on. "He seems to be losing perspective, having trouble controlling his temper."

The emptiness around them tapped at her heightened nerves like branches on a windowpane. "Not like you, right?" she snipped. "You just want to do some nice terrorism, a little friendly kidnapping."

He gave her a cold look. "If you mean Avatar Korra, that was not the Equalists." They stopped midway down a corridor that Asami didn't recognize.

"Then who was it? Spirits?"

As usual, he had no reaction to her sarcasm. "Councilman Tarrlok. We don't have the details, aside from there being a confrontation last night which the Avatar lost. But Tarrlok is trying to cover his tracks by blaming the Equalists."

It sounded…plausible. _Tarrlok_. She mulled it over as he showed her in.

Inside was the sort of room Asami recognized as another Future Industries innovation, an office designed for hectic schedules, meant to relieve it occupant of the troublesome need to interrupt their work for things like food, or a bed. Along one wall was a set of shelves and a small table, opposite a narrow arch that opened onto a kitchenette. A padded futon was laid out in the back corner, just visible behind a spindly metal desk. A large corkboard held maps and notes, but otherwise the walls were bare and white. It wasn't cramped, but it was smaller and far more austere than her room or her father's. She supposed Amon kept it as a show of solidarity with his followers.

Amon offered her a padded chair in front of the desk, then crossed to sit behind it. "Later tonight I will be going out with a team to subdue Tarrlok, so this won't take too long. But I have a proposition for you Asami."

When had she stopped calling her Miss Sato? The aftermath of the cell and both fights was catching up to Asami and her jittery energy had gone flat. She gave her automatic, tired reply: "I'm _not_ working for the Equalists."

He clasped his hands before him on the desk. She noticed for the first time that his skin was rather pale. "You've met some of the people here, and I presume they've told you their reasons for joining. What is _your_ objection to the cause?"

He'd never followed up on her rejection before. Asami was at a loss. "Well..e_verything." _She ticked off the points on her fingers. "You want to take over the city, you're violent and destructive—"

"And if the arms buildup was primarily your father's initiative? If our goal is only to put non-benders and benders on equal footing?"

"What?" That derailed her. "What about the arena? The _airplanes_?"

Amon looked down to open a folder on the desk. "I'm not saying that revolution would be purely peaceful without him. The city has responded to the anti-bending movement with violence from the start." He stood and handed down several photographs. Asami looked through them: injured people lain out on a floor or in beds; a scattered, wrecked training room. Nothing more than what Maya had already described to her.

"A show of force was—and still is—needed to ensure that non-bender voices are heard. The council of benders will not step down without a fight. But I want the revolution to be bloodless. Your father…does not."

Asami dropped her hands to her thighs, the photos still fanned out between her fingers. She didn't want to have a _debate_, all she wanted was to slump down in the chair and slide to the floor_. _She spoke to her knees. "Why…why can't you just go after the benders who are bad, like the Triads? Why do you have to threaten them _all_?"

Something sank in and shook her awake, and her eyes went up to Amon. "Wait, you're going after Tarrlok? And you're just going to let Korra go?"

Amon was silent for a moment. "Possibly. If she'd be willing to likewise leave my Equalists in peace." A newspaper was folded at one corner of the desk and he swiveled it around so Asami could see the front page.

She recognized the photograph she'd glimpsed yesterday. Korra was standing between Mako and Bolin, all three posing as if for a pro-bending team poster with arms crossed and shoulders back, confident smirks so broad they were obvious despite the small size and washed-out colors. It took Asami a few seconds to realize the white mound behind them was Naga.

It wasn't a pro-bending photograph though—they were on a street, behind a row of people hunched on the ground. Asami counted four chi-blockers and three others in prison stripes. Their faces were expressionless. The awkward angle of their arms behind their backs suggested they were handcuffed. Her shoulders twinged.

She set the photos he'd given her face down over the newspaper. She wondered whose idea it had been to go after Equalists—probably Bolin, or Korra. It was hard to believe it had only been a few days since she'd last seen them. She was probably a stranger to them now. _Or an enemy._

Amon leaned over behind the desk and came up holding a bag—her green bag, the one she'd packed this morning. Mystified, Asami rose to accept it and checked under the flap. The glove was back in place. She started to wonder if this was all another dream.

"Your position here hasn't changed and you are still free to go. Given your father's actions today, I wouldn't blame you." Amon slid a sheet of paper over to her. "But you should read this first."

Asami skimmed it—then stopped and re-read it closely. It was a mimeographed copy of a Republic City police report…about—_likely source of leaked information to the Equalists...presumed to be staying on an Equalist base…given Hiroshi Sato's status, may hold a high rank within the organization…warrant has been issued. Arrest on sight._" It was nothing she hadn't already guessed but seeing it typed out clinically…_they already think I'm an Equalist. _

The strap slipped through her slack fingers and the bag dropped with a soft _thunk_. She really had nothing left_._ The police wouldn't listen to her any more than her father would. She wouldn't have thought it possible for her shattered life to be broken into even more pieces, but it truly had, and she'd done it all herself. _Asami Sato_ was now a criminal and traitor like her father, worth nothing but a pair of handcuffs. She might as well have stayed in the cell.

"So you think I should join the Equalists because everyone else thinks I already have." She tried to paper over the spreading devastation with wryness, but it just sounded sulky.

"The report is so you understand what you'll be facing if you choose to leave. The Triads will probably be looking for you as well, since they regard the Equalists as a serious threat now." He folded his arms, looked down at her. "I want you to join us because of your talents, and because you've already shown you can face challenges with strength, and grace."

Asami nearly laughed aloud, she'd been anything _but _graceful or strong. But Amon was watching her closely. "The Equalists need someone like you. Someone with your skill and knowledge, whose mind isn't…clouded by memory. Someone rational and calm."

She couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. There was no lurking threat in his voice, not so much as a hint of intimidation in his demeanor. Had he really rescued her for a _job interview_? "You do know I tried to electrocute your Lieutenant right?"

Amon gave an amused rumble, unsettling her even more. "He tends to jump to conclusions," he conceded, strolling around the desk. "And he defaults to confrontation." He stopped a few feet from her. "I have no problem with you defending yourself. I don't have any use for cowards."

"So…what." Asami looked between the paper and Amon, and her brain finally caught up to the conversation. "You want _me_ to take Dad's place?"

"More or less." He retrieved the report and returned it to a folder on the desk. "You know my concerns about his erratic behavior and you've seen evidence of it yourself. Continuing in this line of work will only worsen his condition, and could endanger his fellow Equalists."

_You've seen vidence of it yourself._ That face would never leave her memory. But when she tried to imagine herself in his role...the idea was slippery, hard to grasp. "What will happen to him?"

"A short break and then, if he accepts, a return to overseeing Future Industries. The company will still be of great value to the city."

Asami did laugh at that. "I hate to break it to you, but it's the city that has control of the company now." She meant to add _and I doubt they'll put Dad back in charge, _but the quip died on her tongue. A host began climbing up all at once, what she'd lost—Future Industries...

"The revolution has begun," Amon intoned. Asami tried to tune back in to what he was saying, though it sounded like it was yet another speech. "The time when the Equalists are seen as criminals is coming to an end. The company will be restored and your father will be a hero to many."

Her heart twisted and she looked away. "Not to me he won't." He _hated_ her now, she'd seen it in his eyes, it had all come to nothing and she'd lost _everything_ trying to help him...She wrapped one arm over her stomach and dug her nails into her side, trying to get herself under control.

Amon paused_. _He moved closer to Asami and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry for what he said to you. But the world _will _be changed, starting in Republic City." His voice had taken on a velvet timbre, more personal. "You could be a powerful symbol, Asami, you could do a lot of good."

_A powerful symbol_. The rhythm of his speech was mesmerizing. Asami had to fake most of the skepticism she knew she should be feeling. "You mean giving speeches about how great Equalism is, coming up with even worse weapons? No thanks."

"No." The whole room seemed to become a background to his uncompromising _nearness_. "I'm talking about building the machines that will replace bending. You can help create a new era, where people are able to live without it entirely. You'll be an inspiration to millions, to people who think they have no choice now but to submit to benders. To groups like the Triads."

All she'd done in the last month was fail at one thing after another. She searched his eyes for some sign of deception or mockery, and met only a clear, steady gaze. "You're wrong." Her voice cracked and broke. "I can't do any of that. I can't handle this kind of thing."

"You can." He pressed down on her shoulder, the weight reassuring rather than restraining. "And you won't be working alone."

Desolation overcame her without warning. It was unbearable, a vast emptiness like a starless sky and Asami pitched forward, her forehead against his coat and hands closing around the coarse cloth. She found herself leaning on Amon. Leaning as if he were a friend, as if he cared, as if he were someone who could ease this wasteland feeling.

It was hard to pretend that was the case for more than a few seconds. Amon was motionless, stiff. His hand was frozen on her shoulder. Asami counted slow heartbeats—_one_…_two_—and braced herself for the awkwardness that had to come next. Maybe she could just crawl into bed after this, and never come out again.

And then—_three_—his arm crept up around her back.

It was so loose at first that he was barely touching her. After a moment, he released her shoulder and lowered that arm to join. Asami relaxed a little against his chest. It wasn't the most affectionate embrace, but she would take it. It was better than nothing.

Seconds ticked by and his hold tightened ever so slightly. Somehow he'd managed to miss the raw spots left by the kali sticks. Asami curled her fingers deeper into his coat. _It wouldn't be so bad just to stay here_, she thought. _Right here. _At some point—if he hadn't changed his mind after being forced to hug her—he'd want a decision about the job. When this ended she'd have to return to the airfield, to the Equalists, to every bleak and hopeless avenue of her life and so she stayed where she was, taking every bit of comfort she could from the scant contact, no matter how much he might be suffering under that faint carved smile.

The white image hovered behind her eyes, reminding her _you are clinging to Amon_. It shouldn't be _nice_, she needed to stop and step away right now…or now…_okay now. _She could feel the faint rise and fall of his chest. If only he could just be someone else.

It was that, more whim than a real thought, which moved her hand. With her face still buried in his chest, she traced upward until her fingertips met the edge of the mask. With the lightest pressure, she began pushing up.

Slim fingers wrapped around hers gently. He said nothing.

Neither of them moved and he went on holding her hand. Asami decided the scene was officially a _tableau_, tense with potential. The insistent pain of her injuries had disappeared under a fizzing effervescence throughout her veins. Buoyed by an airy sense of unreality, she lifted on tiptoe with a barely voiced _please, _and touched her lips to the juncture of his jaw and neck. His head tilted nearly imperceptibly into the contact.

The mask was cool against her burning skin and the tiny movement was enough to flood her with optimism. Asami drew back a fraction and placed another kiss, this one more open and direct. The situation had taken—was taking—a very unusual turn but now that she was on this route she was determined to keep going. The unwillingness to abandon the luxury of being held, of sharing soft, silent contact with another person, was stronger than any sense of restraint. But then she'd sort of always been that way about men. A skittish nervousness started with _but Amon _and Asami carefully swept it into a corner, and kissed his jaw again.

Another few heartbeats passed and then he touched her cheek. It could have been her imagination, but she thought she could feel his warm breath eddying her hair.

"Can you keep your eyes closed?" It barely resembled the voice from the radio, the one that shouted, _the revolution has begun! _Asami breathed assent. He shifted around, and her peripheral vision caught dark hair as he began lifting the mask away. She shut her eyes tight and stumbled into a darkness filled with his hand behind her head—_at last—_his fingers skimming her hair, lips meeting hers, a sigh she felt rather than heard.

He was almost as tentative as he'd been about holding her. There was an odd ripple to the feel of him and Asami thought of his story, _firebenders took my family, then they took my face. _She touched, sightless and sympathetic, brushing deep ridges before he eased her hand away. She took the hint, running her fingers into his pleasingly thick hair to pull him in. He murmured, surprise or desire, she didn't know, and then responded with fervor.

He only broke apart from her when she hit the edge of the desk—when had they started moving?—and Asami wasted no time in finding her way over to his ear, nipping at the edge boldly. He made an exciting noise and buried his face in her neck. And stopped.

He drew away again. Asami tried to lead him back up to her, fisting her hands in his lowered hood—didn't he _know _that interrupting things would only mean rethinking them, this was a _good_ idea, they just _had to keep going_…

He pulled her wrists down. She felt the touch of his forehead as against hers as he drew in a deep breath and released it in a gust. Then his warmth left her completely and Asami's spirits collapsed. There was scrape to her right, sound of a piece of ceramic or porcelain being lifted and, she imagined, tied back into place. It was only when she heard the door slam shut that she remembered to open her eyes again.

_First time for everything _she told herself. It was easier than thinking _what is wrong with me_? Not even Mako had ever walked out on her like that. Asami tried to think she was lucky, that they'd been on the brink of something regrettable, disastrous. _Think how embarrassed you were about that dream!_ The reprimand felt hollow. She drummed her fingers along the desk's surface, listening to the tinny, metallic noise. She twisted around to look at the folders and papers behind her. She ought to take advantage of being alone, do some reconnaissance, steal important documents.

The idea instantly made her feel grubby, as if all…_that_…had just been a ploy to gain secrets. She looked across the room, through the archway into the ridiculous kitchen space. _You could always poison his food._

The green bag was lying on the floor, and she poked it with her boot. That was the other thing she should do. He'd said she could leave any time she'd wanted. But there was still everything that Amon had told her about the police, the Triads, awaiting her in Republic City. Her caustic, insulted act came to a crashing halt. Asami hunched her shoulders and twisted her hands in her hair, trying to quell the rising distress. Nothing was alright after all, she was still at the bottom of an unclimbable pit and all she could think of was that she wanted him back.

The hallways seemed especially barren and forlorn and when she finally found her room it felt like a precious sanctuary, a lush island in a barren sea. She closed the door on the world, looked around all the trunks and suitcases, the things she'd been ready to leave behind, and felt a boundless gratitude for it all. She was troubled by the intensity of the feeling. Some part of her, without her permission, was already thinking of this as _home_. To make things worse, tea and a pot of soup had been delivered sometime while she was out. Asami debated, and decided to clean herself up first.

She didn't look nearly as bad as she'd thought in the bathroom mirror, only a little mussed and dusty. There were no bruises, but she did have a few reddish-pink scrapes along her neck. Asami touched them curiously, not certain how she could have gotten them. The color smudged and came away on her fingers as a creamy substance. It looked like makeup. But she hadn't...

Another faint streak was visible on her forehead. Asami pulled a washcloth from its brass rack and wiped at her skin until it all came away. She regarded the pink-smeared cloth, her tracing and retracing its meaning. Maya's fiery faith came to mind. _He understands what it's like._ Amon, who was scarred so badly by firebenders that he had to wear a mask, be a perfect _symbol_ for non-benders everywhere, their spirit-blessed champion.

How much had _any_ of that ever mattered to her though? Asami tossed the washcloth aside and disrobed before stepping into the shower, taking care to keep the jets of water away from her back. She'd never been too spiritually-inclined. Everyone else could see what they liked in Amon's mask. At least she had time to decide if she cared what lay beneath it.


End file.
